


Behind the Tepid Light

by Big_Diesel



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angst, Asphyxiation, Attempted Murder, BDSM, Blackmail, Bondage, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brother/Sister Incest, Bullying, Car Accidents, Child Murder, Coming of Age, Conspiracy, Dark, Denial, Depression, Drama, Drinking, Electrocution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Femdom, Gun Violence, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Impregnation, Investigations, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Masochism, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Plot, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, Peer Pressure, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reverse Rape, Romance, Sadism, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Slice of Life, Smoking, Stabbing, Strangulation, Suspense, Tasers, Teenage Drama, Teenaged Murderers, Teenagers, Thriller, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Diesel/pseuds/Big_Diesel
Summary: [Summary coming soon]Here is my story. Please don’t judge me for what I am about to do. But, if you do, just think about this. What would you do to protect your sister? What would you do to give her happiness? What would you do to stop her tepid tears from coming out of her eyes? Well, I will explain and let this story be the living testament of my transgressions.





	1. My Maiden Annabel (Part I)

Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun. Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun. Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun. Your brain can be an amazing mechanism. Giving the ability to formulate anything possible in your mind. You can create a standard with your brain with anything at your disposal. What amazes me is that your brain can act like a recorder; replaying anything that goes on in your life. Sound, sight, noise, anything. However, just like anything else in life, all things can also lead to malfunction. Sorry, that I couldn't use a better word. I am still in school. My teacher tells me that I need to better pay attention, or else spend another year in the same grade. But now I digress.

What I am going to tell you is true. What I am about to say will fearfully change the dynamic of my family forever.

 _Family_ is a very important word in my household. A special word for me. It is like a Christmas every day; a gift wrapped in a pretty blue bow and green trimmings. It is like an adorable puppy giving you its first licks. It is like your first taste of something sweet. Those feelings of family. Something that is dear to my every need. Once again, I apologize if my vocabulary is off. Trying to sound smart in this. But I must regret to one day stand before our living God for the sin that I am confessing to you. I wish that it didn't happen. Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.

As of now, I am standing outside of her door. Hesitation comes to me. My wrinkles carve into my forehead like small ditches, gathering the sweat that vacated my pores. My hands begin to tremble. They are sweating from what is to come once I opened that door.

It should have never started, I grimace. I clench my teeth in the sin that I have committed. I clench my teeth in the sin that I am going to commit.

I have swallowed nothing. Nothing but my pride. Nothing but my self-respect. Nothing but my self-worth. It seems to me that I have swallowed a lot of things.

I am still standing at the door. What can I do to stop this? Do I still I have time? Is it not too late to tell my parents? Tell my sisters? Clyde? Ron-?

Ronnie. Ronnie. Ronnie. Ronnie. The rotten apple of my eye. The bathroom floor where my tongue resides. The dismantling of my fiber that I call my beloved. What would she think of me? Will there be a us? Is there still a us? My heart sinks. So, I guess I do have a lot to swallow.

Something creaks from behind that door.

I guess she has stirred. This would be the normal time she awakes from her slumber. The special time where all are asleep and we are the ones entangled as children of the night.

Footsteps come, each step fills with determination, with wonder, with anguish, with detriments, with tears, with disgust, with hate, with rage. God, oh God. Why did I commit such an act? What have I done?

Tears blind my vision. I want to walk away, but it is too late. The knob opens and out she comes.

She fixes her eyes at me, gazing at my emotion state. She remains still. She studies me. That is typical of her. She is making her next move. I want to leave, but I am frozen in fear. Frozen for what we are able to commit.

"Why the tears, big brother," she gently asks.

I don't say a word. It doesn't matter. I can feel her smile staring at me.

"Why the tears, big brother," she asks again. Only this time, there is sternness in her voice.

"Nothing." I lied. "Nothing to worry about, sis."

"Swell," she coos. She slowly walks a few steps before she gets in front of me.

I don't want to look. I keep my eyes tight. Then, a slap.

"Remember my orders when you are in my presence," she says.

I flinch but open my eyes to look at my sister. Her hair, silky black like water stream. So supple, lighter than air, softer than water. And her eyes, hidden, like the secret we share. Her skin, creamy and soft like the moon.

"Why so scared?" She questions me in a teasing tone. "Is it that bad when we do this?"

I remain quiet. My lips quivering for the move she is playing. She may be gloomy. She may be gothic. But, she is smart.

"Answer me, Lincoln."

I look down. She leans closer; grabbing my chin and tilting my head up so I am forced to look into her hidden eyes. "Answer the question."

"No."

"No, what?" She waves her hair, showing her ears.

"No, my maiden."

"No, my maiden, what?"

"My. Maiden. Annabel. Lee." Each syllable, sting worse than the one before. My lips are still quivering. There is a lump in my throat. Even all the while, I just realized that I am standing on my knees.

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

_Of those who were older than we_

_Of_ many _far wiser than we_

_And neither the angels in Heaven above_

_Nor the demons down under the sea_

If you have ever read the poem, Annabel Lee. Don't. Because the very poem itself fascinates her to the density of her bones. It chills my bones and leaves me with anguish and frustration whenever she sings it. Just a boy caught in a Poe world.

"Let's go before they wake up. They wouldn't like if they catch us in our _act_ ," she says, putting extra emphasis on the word, act.

She extends her hands. I look up to the girl who I watched grow up. The girl who came to me for constant advice. The gloomy girl that my sisters and my parents overlooked. I did what I could to be a great big brother. I guess it was not enough.

"Let's go, darling," she says once again.

I take her hand and we head for the basement. I turn my head from the quiet domiciles of my sleeping family. As they nestle peacefully underneath their quilts, as they nestle peacefully underneath their quilts.

I gasp. I am trying my hardest to combat the tears. As they nestle peacefully underneath their quilts, Lucy and I…. Lucy and I…. Lucy and I….

What the hell have I done?

Here is my story. Please don't judge me for what I am about to do. But, if you do, just think about this. What would you do to protect your sister? What would you do to give her happiness? What would you do to stop her tepid tears from coming out of her eyes? Well, I will explain and let this story be the living testament of my transgressions.


	2. My Maiden Annabel (Part II)

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

_**I'm thinking of ending things** _ **.**

Stress keeps building. It does not go away. It is not like a wound that you get after you fall off of a bike. Your mother does not kiss it and it does not go away. It seeps into your brain and remains there like a cerebral reservoir. Only building its energy before breaching its dam. It is there when I sleep. It is there when I eat. It is when I am up. Just always.

She is careful as we walk down the stairs to our forbidden terrace. She puts her finger on my lips. Tender as the feeling that it aching in my heart; or what it weeping in between my loins. She summons my silence, her silence, _our_ silence.

We tiptoed down the stairs. We are careful. As soft as the cushion is on the stairs, this old house can make creaks. Which may be easy enough awaken our light sleeping family.

She hits the wooden rails. It rattles like the nerves that are occurring in my brain. Such adrenaline builds within my mantle. Such stress that keeps building. As much I want to alert her, she keeps her eyes on me. Her eyes lock on me like an animal who entraps her prey. Those felonious eyes, exposing the hunger of feasting upon this timid mouse. It is too bad that no one can see such eyes.

She shakes. Not because she is fearful of being caught. Because it is the excitement of knowing the what-ifs of being caught. I remember the one time she told when we were inside of the vents. Flags were red like the tenderness of her ear, pressing against my flesh; telling me in such a precocious tone.

_What if they found out? What if they caught us in the web of our beautiful sin? What would you do? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me._

Squawking like a parrot, better yet a broken record, I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave as soon as possible. But she had a grip on me. Her lips quivering and trembling with intent. Such pressure on my arm that it began to hurt. Her nail digging deeper into the skin until it was met with my blood. Once she broke the skin, she….

"I would take no satisfaction for any of your distractions." She says while smiling, swaying her hair as I become exposed to her hidden eyes. Those felonious eyes, exposing the hunger of feasting upon this timid mouse. It is too bad that no one can see such eyes. They are reserved…. They are reserved…. I just can't quite just finish this. It tears me inside like an ulcer or something like it. In my science class, my teacher tells me that ulcer can be very painful. Stress can be a probable cause.

If I knew then than I know now, I could have passed that test. Stress keeps building.

I keep quiet. Silence is golden, or so they say. I compare silence to fences. Fences can keep people away from you or fences can keep you away from people. It doesn't make sense, I know. English is not one of my strongest subjects. As a reminder, I am trying to sound smart. I mean, you have made it this far to read this testament. Therefore, you must have some kind of interest in the sick game that I am going to commit. _We_ are going to commit. No longer are you witnesses, but participants in this. I digress. It doesn't make much of a difference.

Stress keeps building.

She grips my skin. By now, becoming familiar to her softness. Enveloping me and my soul.

"What has been on your mind, big brother," she asks me. She is very quietly. Unsurprising. She loves playing coy before we commit our act.

"Nothing." I lied again. Man, why can I be the big brother to express my mind like I do to my other sisters. I am the brother who put away my pride when Lori made me go on a double date with that succubus Ronnie Anne to save her relationship with her boyfriend. I am the brother who helps Lola with her beauty pageants. I am the brother who is constantly the butt of Luan's horrible, I mean horrible jokes. These are my sisters, my family. I wouldn't have it any other way. How can I face them now? How can I face the loves of my existence knowing that there is a fraction displaced in the equation.

Stress keeps building.

Her hands touch my cheek. "I know you are lying," she purrs. "Is it that bad on what we do?"

A tear escapes my eye.

"Sometimes a thought is closer to the truth, to reality, than an action. You can say anything, you can do anything, but you can't fake a thought." She says calmly. She sees my tear and catches it. And with her finger, she places the teardrop in her mouth.

"Your tears tell more of a story than your words, big brother," she says before resuming our walk to the basement.

The moon gives us aid on the pathway to the basement. We come across the kitchen. I see the table where all of us are one as a family. We eat, we laugh, we cry, we scream, we shout, we did everything at that family table.

What is funny that earlier at dinner, my mother asked us what were we grateful for. Of course, we gave our most randomness of answers. Lori said she was grateful for boys. Lisa was grateful for the exploration of science. When Lucy spoke. It was so faint, so quiet, that it may have taken a dog to hear what she had said.

I was right. One of my dogs whimper to the point that he had urinated. My dad turned around, worried; stating that he had never done that before. He was not the only one that felt sudden wetness.

So fragile, so delicate. She was like a flower on the rock. So far away, difficult to reach. Only those who dare to make the treacherous trek to the highest of echelons, beware. Might be pretty, but it does mean that it was soft to the touch. Even roses have its thorns.

I tilt my head and looked at the clock on the microwave. Red as the blood pumping from my veins. Red as the color of her ears as she whispers to me to keep going or else there will be further punishment.

Before I depart the kitchen, the time hit 3:03. A chill runs down my spine. I become whiter than the color of my hair. If you are involved in religion, that is a bad omen. My demon taunts at me for this act; approving along with the other demons in hell. I won't be surprised if they are making room for this detritus of a fallen saint like myself.

Stress keeps building.

We have arrived.

My breath becomes heavy. The air becomes thicker and leaves me sick with worry. Who knew that a basement can have a huge contrast between night and day. On any given day, it is just a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary basement. No different than a basement next door, or at Clyde's, or in Japan.

The basement is more of a bunker, all concrete and no personality. Near the ceiling are long low windows, no wider than the slits in a castle turret but lying on their sides. Without any circulation of air, the stagnant aroma made it dungeonesque and the unsoftened echo of my feet brought on a claustrophobic feeling.

Aside from that, this cramped domicile of a basement is where a huge abundance of memories reside. A treasure trove of unforgettable memories. The good and the bad.

The sound of the door is being locked. The snap of the bolt confirms it. I slightly turn around as I watch my sister confide the key back into her pocket. No matter how I look it, this basement is now my prison.

There is nowhere I can turn. There is nowhere I can hide. This finite space is the only thing between me and Lucy.

I gasp from the suffocating feeling that now surrounds me. I try to grasp something as I grab nothing but air. You would think I was feeling sick. It is not. I am taken aback as my sister wraps her socks around her neck, taking whatever energy away from me. She ties it like a shoelace, putting her bare feet against my neck. She drags me to the floor.

As I fall, I beg to her to stop. She doesn't. She looks and she smiles. My pleading only intensifies her excitement as I am under her mercy of her sock.

"Oh, I am so overjoyed to see you and Mr. Bunny getting along," she says.

I crackle, trying my hardest to breathe. I kick my feet. I grab the sock, fighting as much as I can to let her stop.

"Why are you fighting with Mr. Bunny," she asks. "If you don't stop, you are going to make me really angry."

She never displays frustration or anguish. This is simply a game to her and I am her pawn.

I am still grasping for breath. I clutched my hand around her hands to get her off of me. When seeing this, she presses harder; causing spit to come from my mouth. She does soft and light giggles.

I am kicking and struggling. I am beyond panic mode. I know that death is coming at any moment. For a second, I do not mind that.

While I am clinging to life, she recites one of her poems.

_Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,_

_Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;_

_But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,_

_And the only word there spoken was the whispered word_

It is now my cue.

"And the only word there spoken was the whispered word," she retorts, gripping the sock tighter.

"Annabel," I manage to say.

"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word," she says.

"Annabel," I say. Darkness is dimming closer to me. I hear the gentle voices calling.

She never gives me that chance.

She unwraps the sock and I breach for air like a whale in the sky. I breach for air like a rocket heading into space.

I get on my knees, holding to my neck. I am close to retching. I am coughing, but feel relieved that I am alive.

Footsteps echo from behind me and stood right before me.

Once again, I realize that I am standing on my knees.

As the basement light sways from one place to another, I take a look at my sister.

"Death is too easy for you, big brother," she tells me as she kneels in front of me.

"Yes," I quietly agree.

"Did you enjoy Mr. Bunny?" She pulls the socks and dangles them around my face. For a second, I caught a sweet scent of her socks. They smell of fresh powder.

"Yes." l lied again. It doesn't matter. At this point, tell the truth or lying is the same as having a discussion with the devil and the serpent. The devil gives you eternal torment and suffering. The serpent whispers sweet lies into your ear. The lesser of two evils, I suppose. But what do I know? I try to sound smart, but it is now impossible. Especially if I can't escape the hands of my little sister.

Her smile spreads exposing all of her teeth. She turns around and takes a seat on the chair.

"Crawl to me," she demands.

I follow suit.

Stress keeps building.

At the chair, she grabs my head and makes me look her. "Remember what I said at the dinner table?"

"I do." I am being honest. I really was. I wish I wasn't, but I did remember.

"Did you remember I had said," she says teasingly.

"I do."

"What was it?"

"I don't want to say it."

"Do you really want to test my patience, _big brother_?"

"No ma'am."

She has me. Once I said those words, I am now in her grips, literally.

"Tell me before our living God and our silent family to what I have said. Since it was only you and the dogs that caught the words." She scoffs. "You are no different anyway. I mean you had your tail tucked between your legs also."

I don't respond. I mutter under my breath. "Okay," I sigh. "You said that you were thankful for you being my god."

"Am I your god, Lincoln?"

I don't respond right away, causing her to slap me with her free hand.

"Answer the damn question, you bitch."

My lips quivering. I watched her first steps, her first words, her first poem. What the hell have I done for her to be like this?

"You are my god," I mutter, but loud enough for her to hear it.

She reaches into her pocket and throws something at my face. It is black and diamond studded.

"Your place," she simply says.

When I am with her, the don of big brother disappears and a new being is born.

I get slapped again.

"Hurry the fuck up and wear it before I choke you with this," she says with aggravation. "My patience is wearing thin as it."

I put on the collar of my shame. The label of my subpar position under the allegiance of Lucy.

I am humiliated, still feeling the stings of her slap and the agony of my neck. My knees become sore from the hard, cold floor of the basement.

"Lucy, I ask you this," I say. "It is not too late to turn back."

She nods her head in disagreement.

"There is no turning back, big brother," she says. "I mean, _you_ made me this way."

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

_**I'm thinking of ending things** _ **.**

Stress keeps building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An intense chapter it was. More chapters coming soon.


	3. Dark Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the latest chapter of Behind the Tepid Light. Enjoy!

_I'm thinking of ending things._

_Stress keeps building._

_Nothing good was going to come from this._

_It should have ended where it had begun._

A pity. A penance. A restitution for a job well done. The handed receipt of sarcasm at its finest. It like a tone that is off-key, off-centered. And how much you try to tune it for the right tone, for the right pitch, it can never be done. It is not coming from my hands or the hands of others, but life itself. Life creates and destroys whatever path we take. Rather it was assigned or designed, one thing is for certain. There is a definite beginning and there is a definite end. Yet again, I often don't know what I am talking about.

Nevertheless, it is amazing how the brain can take you off focus from the real world. A ploy, a device of sorts. We drift into a daydream. To places that are far away from reality. You can choose whatever you want to go. Why not? You are the driver. You take the route.

Once again, that is only in your mind. Amazing how the brain works.

My teacher tells me several times if I apply myself like she saw it on my aptitude test, then I can be anything. Then, tell me something teach? If I am as intelligent you made me out to be, then why in the hell couldn't I have foreseen the juncture I am currently in? Why did I not seen the changes in Lucy? It is like being in your own vehicle but the moment you notices changes; like the readjustment of your seat or the shift in your tune switches, the position of your steering wheel….

Now I digress. Amazing how the brain takes you away from where you are. I didn't even notice the handcuffs that are now wrapped around my wrist.

A single finger touches the back of my neck. The hairs stand in alert like someone of importance standing in the room. However, Lucy is no president or a queen in a monarchy. Instead, she does have a dominion of sorts. This basement is her kingdom and I serve as the sole servant of it. No, being a servant is minute in her standards. I believe the correct term is the jester. Yes, I am a jester. A jester under the allegiance of Lucy, as my god and my ruler. With the chain adorned to my neck and with the handcuff tightly wrapped around my skin-sensitive wrist, I am under her control.

This is my darkest hour under her wholesome power. This is where I am being mercilessly judged.

"Such a subservient creature you have to succumb to be, big brother," she taunts. Her finger, still touching the back of my neck, never letting go. I cough. Such a piercing pain I have at this time. I gulp, but not showing it. Doesn't matter. The moistness of her breath lingers like a dense bog on a hot summer evening. She has always been curious of the anatomy of the human body. On how it works? How does it function? What kind of thresholds can the human body withstand?

Poe, Hawthorne, Mayhem, and Marilyn Manson are not the only things to be submitted under the resume of Lucy's tutelage. If my parents had paid attention to their daughter more, they would have noticed the books on anatomy hidden in her room. Excuse me, they were hiding in plain sight.

I'm no parent, but it would be advisable and plausible to check your kid's room from time to time. The makings of their newer self can form. Just an egg incubating until the end of their metamorphosis.

Trying to sound smart again.

A tinge of sweat drops hits my neck. It combines with my sweat. Unlike her sweat, mine is filled with fear. Fear of what it is to come. For the night is still young. Stress keeps building.

"You are silent. Don't think for one second that your silence shows anything of superiority towards me, big brother," she explains this so bluntly. I am lost in thought. A place I rather be then being where I am. It is not my fault. You can't control my brain like I can't control your psychosis.

"It doesn't matter rather I am silent or not, you have control over me," I say.

It was not what I have said that is now changing the expression of her face. It is how I said it. The moistness of her breath leaves me. She walks away, but for a moment.

She returns. I turn my head for a second. Just a second. I wish I don't.

"Feeling brave, are we?" She says while lifting my chin. Her silky black river stream makes contact with my face. Inside of her hidden fortress, my eyes and her eyes meet. They are stunning. "Well, we can't have that." She says with a sting. "Can we?"

It is too bad that my family doesn't see this. Maybe that is a good thing. Some things are not meant for everyone to be seen.

The flashing light makes contact with my neck. The hairs on my neck, the sweat embellishes with me in the electric mayhem.

I shake and I yelp, making her emit a smile. She is always like this when I am under her control.

Stress keeps building.

I hit the floor. On my knees in my rightful place. The currents have full control of me. There is nothing I can do. I scream. I scream. I scream. My tongue flickers like I am speaking in tongues. If you are involved in religion, then you will understand what I am telling you. My tongue is dry. I cringe into many different positions.

This last only for a few seconds, but the pain. Oh my God, the pain. Like a million fire ants attacking you at once. Prick, prick, prick, pricking you. It hurts. Once it is done, a single tear escapes my eye. It drops to the floor, including me.

I lie on the floor. It is cool. It is soothing, especially after the shocker she gave me. I twitch. The twitching rattles against the railing of the old bed next to me. The bed gives me brief nostalgia. Just brief.

That was the very bed that Lucy and I shared when we were _once_ children. Children. Children. We are no longer children.

Stress keeps building.

The devil plays idle things. So does adults. Children supposed to be innocent. In a sea of naivete. But children are not always children. Some can become little men or little women.

Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I catch it? If I would have realized that day. That day…. That day…. In those vents or was it in that room. When we… when we….

A splash of water hits my face. I turn my head. She stands over me. Annabel stands over me. The stale air does poorly in disguising her scent. Fresh powder.

She taps her bare feet when she approaches me. "Stand."

I do. I stagger, but I manage. My body, in tatters like my pajamas.

"Strip. Your clothes. Remove it, now." She says to me.

I bite my lip. My cheeks are flushed. However, if I want another encounter with "The Shocker," which she swings delightly like a baton. I follow her orders.

She stares at me as I remove of my clothing. I took off my pajama top, then my pajama pants, and then my briefs. I turn red on the last part. Naked in front of my sister. It feels unnatural. Of course, we have seen each other in the bathroom when we….

She hits me with that blackened taser.

"Escape from that putrid cesspit you call a mind and relinquish your clothing or else there is another bout in this, you bitch!" Her voice emerges like a triumphant ball of lightning. Or the rolling of a bowl aiming for the pins.

"God, you stupid fucking abortion," she mutters under her breath. I pretend that I didn't hear that.

My chest throbs from the taser. Indented. Like my soul. I remove the final piece before exposing all of my shame to her. She becomes tickled like a schoolgirl. It is those rare moments that reminds me of her youthfulness. Such fragility from this wretched creature I call my sister.

She is amused. Watching me blush as I cover myself. The cool air the vents just released does not help my situation any better. Air rushes around my crotch and from my behind, leaving me with a tingling feeling.

"Well done," says Lucy. She slaps my hand, making me remove it. Now, my penis is exposed in front of her.

I feel the warm contact of her hand touching my penis. She cups it like the way she holds Edwin. After a few seconds, she takes her hand away.

She smirks. "A pity. Even Charles has a bigger dick than you."

Such vulgarity, I think to myself. Where did she gets this from? I have watched her grow up. I lament as tears begin to flow my eyes. My heart feels heavy. My chest hurt. It is tightened. I begin to stagger. What in the hell have I done to her?

"My hand is dirty from your widdle dick," she teases. "Lick it." She extends her hand like a woman who shows off her wedding ring to friends. But there is no wedding ring or surrounded by friends. I cringe as I lay my tongue around her soft hands. I thoroughly clean her hands. I am detailed from nail to bone. Tasting the salt of her flesh and the salt of my flesh. Her face never leaves my sight. That smile, that smile.

Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.

"Enough," she orders. I stop. She pushes me back. "Get on the bed, flat on your back."

I do exactly as she orders. I feel extremely tense despite the comforting feeling of the soft sheets against my back. She has prepared, I think to myself.

I hear footsteps. They are coming from above me. This goes with notice with Lucy.

"Someone stirs," she says. "Do you think they have heard us?"

I swallow nothing. And I mean it this time. I have swallowed nothing.

She looks at me. "For a person who serves as my subservient dog…." She stops her comment. The sounds of footsteps make their way close to the hallway. Someone is coming downstairs.

"The best things in life make you sweaty," she says.

Edgar Allan Poe quoted it.

Stress keeps building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you have enjoyed the chapter. More coming soon. Thanks and God bless!


	4. If Lucy Fell

_Nothing is unforgettable._

A memory never goes away. Once it is there, it is forevermore. It may not be in your conscience part of your memories, but it is compacted within. Compacted within is the compartment of your memories. Compacted within are the skeletons. Compacted within are the things of regret. Compacted within are secrets that we want to carry to the grave. But are they secrets? In history class, I was taught that Benjamin Franklin said that they only way three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead. How is true is that? You can't keep secrets under the eyes of God.

The bible teaches us that God forgets everything that you have done. How true is that? The bible teaches us that no sin is greater under the eyes of God. How true is that? Stealing a piece of candy is no different from killing a man. Or, lying to your mother is no different than committing adultery. Or, lying to your parent is no different than me and Lucy….

No, I can't say it. I can't. I just can't. I keep it inside like my laughable demons. Hidden in the shadows where no one can see them. But I can. Wrapping their copper-colored hands around my arms. Whispering in my ears of detriment and shame. Enveloping me to swallow me whole. Somewhere there is a pit for me. Unmarked, which I find ironic. Then yet again, here I go trying to be smart.

_Nothing is unforgettable._

If you don't know by now, residing in my brain is an oasis. It helps me escape from the world. I can be me without anybody disturbing me. For a moment. For a moment. This shell that I call a brain is no different than a sponge. Nothing is impenetrable.

"We have company." Lucy breaks the silence. It is dry. Does not sound rehearsed. She grips her socks in her hand. The same socks that almost took my life. Her face becomes flushed. She shows no emotion. Between us and behind those doors, something is entering her dominion.

That's the kind of tick that pisses her off.

She sharply faces me. I remain alert, vigilant on her next move. Menacing is the better word at this time. Now, I definitely do have something to swallow.

"Big brother," she asks. She grips her socks tighter.

"Yes," I reply. It is strained.

"Who could that be behind those doors," she asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I respond.

She shakes her head in a disapproving manner. That is not the answer she wants to hear.

"Did you make a mistake?" She asks.

I shake my head in disagreement.

"Your silence all night tells me something's up." She says. "And I don't like that."

_Tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, tap._

There is someone knocking at the door.

Behind our hidden fortress, behind her kingdom, her dominion.

_There is someone knocking at the door._

That thick wooden door only separates the truth from several inches.

_There is someone knocking at the door._

That thick wooden door where I painted with my father.

_**There is someone knocking at the door.** _

I am riddled with fear. I become stiff, frozen for knowing that someone in my dear family is awake.

_**There is someone knocking at the door.** _

Mom? Dad? Luan? Lori? Lisa? LILY? LANA? LUNA? CLYDE? RONNIE ANNE? GOD? BUDDHA? JAH?

Each name I am calling, I am clenching my teeth and gripping the bed. My face is tightening up. I am driven to tears. Driven by the forces that dare to separate and destroy my family. Then whose fault is that?

_The man with the plan._

_The jack of all trades._

_The man with the plan._

_The jack of all trades._

_The man with the plan. That is who I am. The man with the plan. The jack of all trades. That is who I am._

_Then, what are you waiting for, man with the plan?_

Amazing how your brain works. It takes you away. I don't even notice that Lucy is now standing over the bed.

Lucy faces me. Her body shakes. She bends over her stomach. From my position, you think she is trembling or sniffling. But instead, she rises up in a crinkled laughter. It floats in the air like a melody. A decrepitated melody of a siren who entraps her prey.

She flicks her hair, exposing her luminous catlike eyes. She never takes her eye on my sight. She grips her pocket, knowing that she has the key to open that door.

I become stiff. My cheeks are flushed; colors fading away like the time I have left before somebody discovers my secret. Her secret. _Our_ secret.

"Big brother, are you lying to me," she asks. Her socks still in her hand.

"No, I am not," I protest.

"Words, so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them," Lucy tells me.

She sits on the bed beside me. She crosses her leg. She displays no signs of worry. Her icy hands gently rub on my leg. She rubs it gently from my leg to my feet. She does this over the course of a few seconds.

"Who do you think is stirring, big brother?" She asks very nonchalantly. She is relaxed, unlike me.

"I don't know," I say.

She pulls out the key. The shiny silver key flashes against the light, blinding me. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I look at her, knowing that I don't want to answer, but I don't have a choice. "What is it?"

"I think you want us to get caught."

"Why?"

"Because they can see us in our sin."

"Our sin?"

"Yes, _our_ sin." She adjusts her and leans over my face. "I mean it does take more than one to commit that kind of sin, doesn't it." She leans near my ear. I gasped as my neck becomes sensitive to her touch. She blows into it.

 _I'm thinking of ending things._ She whispers to me. _There's only one thing I have to resolve. Just waiting for the right moment. Just that one more question to get to that one and final answer._

She tickles my chest lightly with her fingertips. She continues to whisper in my ear. _I can feel your fear growing. Diminishing to your true self as the dog before me. I am your god._

The knob begins to rattle. I am scared. I want to move. I make small attempts. A little nudge, something.

"Why so soon, big brother," she asks me. "The fun is just getting started."

"Lucy," I say.

"Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why? Why? Why? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why? Why? Why? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why? Why? Why?Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why so soon, big brother? Why? Why? Why?"

She takes the key and gets up from the bed. She walks to the door.

"Sigh, no matter." I am thinking of ending things," she says. "I am thinking of ending things."

I want to do something. She is headed for the door.

"I am thinking of ending things, big brother," she says, raising her voice. "I am thinking of ending things, big brother. I am thinking of ending things, big brother."

"It's your fault," she says. "You made me this way."

"Lucy," I say.

"It's your fault. You made me this way." She continues saying as she walks to the door.

Her hand is on the knob. She is placing the key into the hole. I grimace, my body is immersed in sweat. I can't take this pressure anymore. I yell.

"Then what in the hell are you waiting for."

She pauses and turns around. She becomes relaxed. She looks at the key.

"A response." She opens the door.

I close my eyes. I shut them tight. It's over. Everything is over. I am sorry for the sin. I am sorry for what I have done. I am sorry for trying my hardest on being a big brother. I am sorry for Lucy. I am sorry, Luce. It's my fault that I made you this way. I am sorry.

I wait. A sound, a scream, a shout. Any movements. Nothing.

"How do you know when something is menacing, big brother," she asks.

I keep my eyes close. I don't want to answer.

"How do you know when something is menacing, big brother," she asks very calmly. My body did a twitch. It becomes like this when it is cued for her next move.

_Hail Mary, full of grace._

A slap. It stings. Worst than the slap that vile Ronnie Anne gave me. But unlike Ronnie Anne, there is no love with this slap. No steak to heal. No lovely note.

"Sigh," she says. "You really love making things difficult for yourself." She winks at me. "Then yet again, easy for me." She giggles.

I look at the open door and out of nowhere comes her bat.

For a second, I sort of wish it was my parents. For a moment. Only for a moment.

"That is a funny thing about our brain, isn't it," she says. "When there is so much fear and guilt that it can trick us into thinking that something is there, but it is not."

Once again, I am standing on my knees.

"Did you actually thought somebody was out there," she questions me.

"Yes," I respond. "Why?"

"Come again?"

"Why? Why do this to me? Why confuse me with this?"

She is silent.

"You tell me questions that are so broad. What are you getting out of this?"

She tells Fangs to leave the room and to close the door behind us. She grips my chin and makes me look at her.

"I should tell you the same thing, big brother. I should tell you about what you were getting out of me," she says, never letting go of my chin.

"Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln. It amazes me that you have no idea on why we do this? You don't even have a fucking clue."

She grips tighter. My cheeks begin to hurt.

"I had played your naivete for quite awhile, but you are honestly telling me that you don't know. Damn, you are either a self-denying prick or a gullible idiot."

I have a lump in my throat. I quietly ask for my mother.

She releases her grip. "I play your game a little longer," she responds in a playful tone. "Get to the bed. And lie flat on my stomach."

In an instant, I follow her orders. I return to the bed of our former childhood. I lie on the cool satin sheets. My mind is wondering what is going to happen. To be honest, I know what is going to happen. I just can't accept it.

She walks away to retrieve something. When she returns, she leans next to me.

"Stay still, Edgar," she tells me. That is my nickname when the games begin.

The sound of gloves is put on her hands. I can't see her, but she is preparing. As I brace for the inevitable, why is my penis becoming excited?

I gasp as I feel the warm latex of her finger entering my anus. She inserts it forcefully. I wince. She slaps my ass with her free hand. "Stay the fuck still, you dog."

She continues to massage my anus. My eyes water from the impact. I am in agony. It starts with one finger, then it follows by two more of her fingers. I gasp when she inserts her fourth finger in my cavern. I become confused. Very, very confused.

"Don't resist, Edgar," she purrs. "I know you want this. Is this what you wanted from your little sister?"

My eyes widen by her thrusting. As much I want to protest, my hips give in. It craves it. It wants it. I feel my ass tightening around her finger. I hate myself.

"If Mom and Dad can see you now, Edgar," she says while thrusting in my ass. "How you force your little sister to do this. If you were caught, you will be so dead."

"But you are doing this," I protest. "I am handcuffed. You are attacking…."

She slaps me It is pierced. I can taste blood.

"Are you arguing towards your master," she questions me in an angry tone.

"No ma'am," I respond. I can't see her, but I know that she is smiling.

I feel her other hand caressing my balls. She is gently playing with them while rubbing my ass. By this time I realize that I am humping the bed while she continues to finger me.

_I have no control._

I take my mind away from this. From this horrid scene. I picture myself away where she can't get me. I think my parents, sleeping peacefully knowing that their children are safe, so they think. My loving, sweet sisters who I care for deeply. I think about Clyde and then, I drift on Ronnie Anne.

_Ronnie Anne._

_Ronnie Anne._

_Ronnie Anne._

We were sitting at the park after school had ended. It was not a common thing to do, but we wanted something different for us. It was a getaway. A little bit of solace. Something to be ourselves without being ourselves amongst our friends. It was quiet. It was vacant, for lack of a better word. Be as it may, it was like God himself reserved this park just for us.

"Did you like your sloppy joe?" Ronnie Anne asked me.

"I did," I replied. "It was _de_ -lectable." Then I added. "Especially when you add a taste of my boxers."

She giggled, hiding her hand behind her soft and moistened lips. She had a habit of closing her eyes whenever she laughs. She had never done that in front of others. It was only when I was around. It sort of reminds me of fairy tales in which you see the imaginative character, but when others come around, it is gone. So, they don't believe you. And once they are gone, the figure returns. That was what reminded me of Ronnie Anne. Only the worthy is allowed to see.

I had called her sexy. She hit me on my arm. Although it hurt, something tender came from it. It was full of affection, full of life. So much so, she kissed it.

"Pain, pain, fly away," she said.

It was there at the park where we had our second kiss. It was our first kiss alone.

"Kiss me again," she asked. She reached her arms around me like a mother does to her newborn.

I was covered under her arms as I shared another kiss with her.

"Ronnie Anne," I mutter under my breath.

"Big brother," she responded. However, it wasn't in her voice.

I return to reality as I realize that she has thrust her fifth finger into my ass. I climax upon her thrusting. I feel embarrassed. Covered and coated with my semen on my stomach while caught in the thoughts of Ronnie Anne.

"Ronnie Anne," Lucy questions. "Thinking about your girlfriend?"

I don't say a word. I never do. I feel very pathetic.

She clicks her tongue. "A pity, Edgar," she simply says. "Sigh, no matter. You must be punished."

She dangles her sock around my head.

"Tilt your head, Edgar," she commands.

I did. The familiarity of its softness returns to my neck. "We are going to play a little game," she coos behind my ears.

Reluctantly, I answer. "What is it?"

She responds. "Is there a God?"

_Stress keeps building._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this latest chapter. More to come soon. For those who are wondering on Lincoln's repetition of "Stress keeps building." It is a nervous tick of his. The reason behind it will be revealed soon.


	5. The Mask on Her (My) Face

_It is uneasy being around her. She brings a drag to the entire place._

_I have found it eerie whenever she is upon me._

_She is so negative. I get chills._

_Why does she have to be so low? Does she ever let up?_

_If life is nothing but an impenetrable darkness of despair, why live? Why not take the plunge? Do us all a favor?_

_I feel sorry for the gloomy girl. Sorry that she lives a worthless existence._

_She is a monster._

_She is a freak._

_I have something better. She is just a creep._

_A creep in black._

_That is right. A creep._

_Creep!_

I see a ribbon. It floats gently with such delicacy onto the smokey, midnight sky. The moon serves as a ghostly galloon, tossing it over the cloudy sea. It doesn't speak, the ribbon I mean. It doesn't make a sound. It just waves amongst the wind. In a place where it is a torrent of darkness. Just a torrent of darkness.

My blackened eyes are as hallow as the ribbon. Discolored like my sunken eyelids and my pale freckled cheeks. My body feels hallow as the ribbon. I just feel hallow. Carrying on with the wind until I meet my inevitable abyss.

Empty as the pit of my poor, wretched, pitiful soul. Empty as I am feeling around you all as you watch my peril. The fallacy of a human when a fellow soul like myself faces peril. Did you catch my repetition? At least I have some attainable knowledge my teacher taught me. She had always explained that the best knowledge of life can be found beyond the classroom. She is right. It is too bad that she did not last long in my class. There was an incident.

Who am I?

_Just a mere shell._

I am a mere shell in form of a boy called Lincoln.

_Who are you?_

I am Lincoln.

 _Am_ I you _?_

Are you me?

Stress keeps building. I am filled to the brim of despair as I am an unlikely participant in her game. A game we have played before. There are rules. I rather not say. There are winners. Even that I still doubt. What winner can result from such a macabre? Macabre, here I go sounding intelligent. Such a game, such a game I have grown accustomed to. A game where we….

My chest becomes tightened. It is inflamed. Amazing how I delve into my thought. Not noticing that she has control of my neck that she is tilting. Above me is our window that constantly reminds of my wishful freedom, my imprisonment, her paradise. The moon shines brightly on this unholy night. The devil is in the mist. If saints make pacts, then imagine what sinners can bring when there is two of us.

The demon in the moon. Smiling with all of her teeth exposed. She waxes and wanes. She tells me to submit to my god. Give in and embrace it. It is not that bad. Maybe, there is a solace. There is always solace after some torment, the demon tells me. She licks her lips like Lucy. She even smells like Lucy. The fragrance of fresh baby powder impales my nostrils. It alerts me that the demon comes in many forms. In this case, this said demon is Lucy. Mr. Bunny is up front, and center on the stage where my neck resides.

I am starting to struggle. The game has begun.

"Don't struggle or else, I will make you suffer." She is not smiling. Her eyes are luminous; red like the eyes of my fellow demon. Red as the moon that is forming in the night's sky. Red as my flushed face and the swelling of my eyes. They are becoming dry. My mouth is becoming dry. I struggle to breathe.

And the collar does not make it any easier.

"Don't fight it," she tells me. "This is your punishment. Take it!" Just words, no further explanation. I am watching lunacy at work. Lunacy, makes me think of the moon, lunar, and Lucy. They are able to share a tale as I am speaking to you. Amazing how your brain manages to produce such thoughts. You know the current circumstances. You know what she is doing to you. Maybe those are what final moments are like. When there is nothing else. Nothing else but your thoughts.

The more I resist, the more she pulls. Stale air I taste. Ingesting nothing. Pressure against my vocal cords. I am dangling in midair. The cold steel of my handcuffs quietly slices my strain wrist. I kick. I am in a panic. You can hear grunting as she presses her foot to my neck.

She puts more of her body weight on me. She is making sure that I don't resist.

"Don't struggle, I told you, you stupid cunt. Now you are pissing me off." Lucy is very vulgar. I have no idea where she gets that talk. There is stuff that you won't even find in a gothic story. Just like her personality and her appearance, it comes out of nowhere. Ironically, it should not be surprising. And for the record, Lucy. That is a natural reflex. Of course, I am going to struggle. Even a person who wants to take a ladder route and kick the ladder down will struggle. That is called natural reflexes of a human. We all fight for survival.

We fight. Correction, I am fighting. Is it with me? Her?

"Luce," I plead. There is blood on my lip. I have chewed so hard that it is bleeding. More pain meshes on me. You can hear her efforts. She is very serious about this game.

"Luce," I plead again. She grips tighter. The room begins to spin. My heart beats faster. I am gurgling. Spit begins coming from my mouth. I am starting to become numb. I don't know. I don't know. But, I am on edge. I am on edge.

"This hurts me more than you will ever know, Edgar." She tells me. "The pain I am feeling is a thousand times worse than a little pain in your neck."

I am tilting. I am trying to look at her. Showing my plead. Showing my plea for help. Something to let her know I am lamenting.

With all of my might, I shift to her. I look at her. My mouth is agape. Her eyes. I can see her eyes. They are not hiding behind her hair. This is another side of Lucy that no one sees. A side that no one has a chance to see.

If they can only see the mask on her face.

I nudge my hands to her. I hit it hard.

No response.

I hit it harder.

No response.

It is not long when I see myself become deeper and deeper into a narrow cave. It was narrower than a straw. I am preparing to enter another realm where my fate is being placed. Where I am being mercilessly judged. I, no longer, hear sounds. Of my struggle. Of her grunting. Nothing. Like a vacuum sucked out everything.

I look on the table of my father's work desk. I saw a picture. Embroiled in solid gold. He received it as a gift from my mother on her travels in New England. In that photo, it was a photo of us. The family. We were in front of the Royal Woods Inn.

The photo-op was a disaster. We were off-guard. We are always off-guard. I couldn't have it any other way. It was the first time we had taken a vacation as a family. The first of times in which the world was exposed to the Louds. Where can I begin? We had destroyed the elevator; damaged the bathroom; destroyed the hotel room; ran amok through the place; and among other things. And I still did not get the chance to find the haunted spirit of the one-footed bellboy.

Lucy was with me. It was one of the few times we have bonded as brother and sister.

The picture shows what we should be: family.

I quiver my lip. Drunken in despair on the mental casualty I have done. I don't think my family will ever, ever, EVER be the same.

I wish I were an aberration. They are better off. I am thinking of ending things.

Stress keeps building.

"I hope that your god tells you the words, depart from me." You can hear her laughing. She is loud mockingly at my pain, at my anguish, at my peril. She wipes her tear from eye. She returns to normal.

"Edgar, big brother, Lincoln, listen to the words I am about to say." She whispers behind my ear. She loosens Mr. Bunny from around me. I brace tightly for air. Before I can get the chance, she wraps her hands around my mouth, silencing me. "I don't want our family to hear us." It was the first time in awhile she used the word, _us_.

"I am YOUR sunrise and sunset. Everything from your pitiful smile to your pitiful teeth and even that tiny dick belongs to me." She continues to smile. Her hot breath looms around me. The moistness of her hands is soft to my lips.

"Accept your fate as the pitiful boy who is alive because of me. You have a debt to pay. And you will be under me until I am done with you. Understand?"

I shake my head, doing whatever I can to end the torture.

She uncovers her hand and she gets off of me. She sits on the bed. She is quiet. Her puts her finger to her lip. She is thinking. She then gets up and goes to the wooden chest behind the bed.

She reaches inside and grabs a bottle of lotion. She throws it next to the bed. She reaches for the key to the handcuffs and unlocks it. The freedom does not compare to the burning sensation on my wrist.

"Put on this lotion. It should take care of the rough burns." She says. She looks away. "Put some on your neck. It should help with the burns as well."

She reaches around and takes off my collar.

I don't say a word. I just put on the lotion. Although soothing, it does hurt. It really does hurt. My body and my soul.

"Your clothes are on the table by the vents." She says. "I think you can do that without my help, Lincoln."

The game is over. This is the part where she concludes for the night.

She goes to the door, unlocks it, and departs.

Here am I alone. Left with doubts. Left with pain. Left with more questions than answers.

Is she a monster? Is she the devil in black? Is the she-devil in the black dress, departed from me with such a bedeviling grace? I am very cautious on the choice of words. My teacher explained in class that words have a multitude of meaning. It is versatility and tone can display a different feeling, if used in the right context.

Does angelic, bedeviling, conniving, abysmal pertains to this moment in time? I should have better studied that vocabulary test. If I did, then maybe those words would show better meaning.

Stress keeps building. You should not be surprised of my repetitiousness. It is similar to the recalculation of a GPS. You can never find the right direction. Is there a right direction? Or is it just places we just go or claim? Yet again, I am not as smart of a kid I put on to be. I am the man with the plan, at least that is what I claim. No one has ever given me that title. It was self-claim, like the responsibility of perpetuating the monster within Lucy.

Upon returning to the kitchen, the clock on the microwave shows that it is a quarter after six. It is the time where I am up. School is to be attended.

"Lincoln," says the sound of a familiar voice. I turn around and I see that it is my mother. She is always first in the morning to prepare for the day. Mom, if you knew what happen if you would have awoken a few minutes earlier.

"Why are doing up so early?" She asks me.

"Oh, nothing," I lie to her. "Just getting an early start," I say with a smile. Wearing a mask just like Lucy. But unlike Lucy's, my mask feels blue with sorrow and regret. Especially for lying to my mother.

"My, oh, my," she says. "There is nothing wrong with getting an early start. Even if that is the eighth time this month."

"Well," I explain. "Even children need an early start to prepare for the day."

"If you say so," she concludes. She shakes her head and darts to the refrigerator. She turns around. "Do you care to help make breakfast for this morning for your dad and the girls?"

I smile. "Sure, mom."

I help her get set up for the day. Never once did she ask about the marks on my neck. Never once did she ask about my wrist. That should be concerning, but hell, I don't know.

I just return to my mind where you all reside. It won't take long before the smell of breakfast wakes the entire house.

Stress keeps building.

_I am a monster._

_I am a monster._

_I am a monster who stares into the abyss._

_The abyss is my home. The abyss is where I find comfort._

_Creep._


	6. Nevermore (Part I)

A memory is its own thing every time it is recalled. A memory. A memory of a memory. Memories upon memories of memories. Excuse the constructs of my brain. I think too much. Here I go trying my hardest on my intellect. It becomes a challenge. A building block of its own. Your brain is the centerpiece. Each mold that is plastered is a hindsight of God's creation. Now I digress.

Stress keeps building.

Residing in my brain again. I think too much. Just a random observation about myself. Does anybody else think how I think? Or think like I think? Do you? You have made it this far to continue this journey. I can't find quite find the right words to describe this perilous flight. A perilous journey? Maybe? I'm not sure. Knowing my mind, it adapts to anything. Anything. Adaptable. A-dapt-able. Is that right? I am not sure.

My sister, Lori, once told me that memories are not absolute. It is just stories based on actual events that are often shared more with fiction than fact. Like fictions, memories are recalled and retold. In a way, they are stories. We can't measure every detail of our memory. Of the situation, I mean. All we can is recall the important details. But that is why telling you this story is important. Stories are the way we learn. It helps us understand each other. Why you may ask? Because reality can only happen once. Just once. And when it is done, it is done. No second chances. No take backs. But a memory is born and it is fabricated and fabricated and fabricated and….

Amazing how Lori used the word absolute in the right light. Aside from her dominance as the elder sister of the clan, she does have her moments. Behind the mask of a typical bossy, condensending witch I call my sister, she is not all that bad.

Lucy was right. The night of our last encounter, I stood at the foot of her bed. I was only moments from telling someone about us. Just close. I felt a shiver. Cold and callous like the chills of my spine and the dead skin of my fingertips. She got off the phone for a second. She looked at me. It was the caring eyes that show a surprised look. Surprised to see her little brother in the room. From her face, she knew I wanted to say something. But I couldn't. I ran out as quickly as I could.

She knocked on my door that night. I did not answer.

There went my two chances.

Stress keep building.

I find it menacing that we have the capabilities to think this way. What gives us hints when something is not innocent? I wonder that is how Eve felt when she was contested with the serpent. Am I no different than Eve? Following the vice of a venomous fiend to partake the apple of damnation. The escape from paradise? Or am I Adam? Taking it to the trap because I was entranced by the seductive woman. Let me transcend this. What if Lucy were Eve and I was Adam. She seduced me into the taking the apple. She led me to find fate. Then, there is free will. I don't know anymore.

I now sit alone in the restroom stall at school. The only time of the day where I can have my peace, my solace. Or lack thereof. It is quiet, empty, and silent. All share the same qualities of my being. I rub my wrist, still feeling the stings of my earlier torment. Although I am free. I can still see those handcuffs. I can see Mr. Bunny. Those things don't go away. It is an accessory. It becomes part of you. Just an empty space or an empty socket until the owner returns.

Lucy is my owner. I am her slave. I am in her bondage.

I rest my head against the cool tile wall. I sigh. I contemplate on rather finish the rest of the day here or return to class. I don't care. We still have not found a permanent teacher yet. There was an incident. I can't say much. Not now at least. I will tell you this. It had involved the police. There is an ongoing investigation. I was one of those who was interviewed.

I want clarity. Correction, I need clarity. I want something. Something to deliver me from my suffering. Something to remind me, to nudge me, to tell me that everything is going to be alright. It does not hurt to hear that from a soft, gentle voice of a mother; or from a firm voice of a father. Even the surrounding comfort of a friend. Resolution is what I seek. I want a way out. I want out, out, out. Something to escape my melancholic, inescapable inner hell.

I wear my scars that no one has even dared to ask. I just guess that have matching scars as well. Hidden deep within the Loud house.

The smooth silvery blade fits perfectly. It shines bright like it is a savior. Is it a savior? Can I plead my blood over the savior to relinquish my further suffering? Can it deliver me from evil? It seeks me; like the blood seeks me to wash my sins away. Can it heal me? Can it save me?

The door opens.

The hard footsteps return me to reality. A place I solemnly abhor.

"Lincoln," says the voice. "Cadet Clyde, reporting for duty!"

I become relaxed. This is the voice of a person who I have admired. A dear friend who always have my back, even in moments I did not have his. He is an angel in my eyesight. A savior. My wingman.

"Hey, Clyde," I tell him. I straighten my voice, not displaying any frustration.

"Hey, man. Are you ok?" He asks me. I can see him standing in front of the stall.

I wonder if anybody is really honest when asked that question. How truthful is it? Is it easy? Hard? Heavy on the tongue? Soft on the tongue? The taste? I once read a book that the taste in your mouth associate with feelings. Quite unsure because I did not get the chance to finish the book. I was called to the office that day after the incident.

"Yeah, I am fine," I tell him, knowing that I am lying through my teeth.

There is a pause. I know that he is trying to produce a question. Unsure on what thoughts he might say.

"The teacher got worried and wanted to know what's holding you?" He says with a hint of a giggle. "Too much sloppy joes?" He has to take it there. Damn you, my sweet vile woman I call my beloved.

There is an aching feeling in my heart. I grasp on it like that is all that I way.

"Ronnie Anne," I say out loud. I already forget that Clyde is out there. He knows he heard saying her name.

"Ronnie Anne?" He questions. I imagine he is smiling behind the stall. "Dude, c'mon, seriously? I know there are 10 sisters living with you and one bathroom." He reminds. "But there are other places where you know, 'take care of your business.'" He is saying the emphasis with both of his fingers. He is predictable. A true friend I most admire. My only friend, as a matter of fact.

"Dude, really, Ronnie Anne?" I tell him. "I rather lick the tongue…."

He interrupts. "I know, I know. 'On the bathroom floor.' We get it. You have mentioned several times." He laughs. "It is getting old, dude. You are better off admitting that you and Ronnie Anne have a thing going on?"

_Are you sure?_

I chuckle. "Yeah, yeah." I chuckle in a self-deprecating manner. "It is getting old, isn't it."

"How long has it been?"

"A few months."

"Longer than most."

"What can I say? We weirdos clean up nice"

"Weirdos you are." He sighs and then adds, "Sees to me that everything is fine with you. Come on out so that the teacher doesn't think you are painting the stall with your all-natural paint."

"Piss off," I tell him.

"Do that to Ronnie Anne, not me."

I let him have it. The quality of true friendship. Even these moments I have questioned this expectancy after what me and Lucy have been involved with.

I step out of the stall to meet and greet my dear friend. We give each other daps before exiting the restroom. Quietly, I return my tiny savior in my back pocket. Thank you, Clyde. If you were a few moments sooner.

School has come to a close. I walk out of my class and into the jungle that is formerly known as the hallway. The hall is crowded with people. The chaos is so perfect. It feels like a scene from a movie. The halls are dressed in black and white. The tiles on the floor look like checkerboards. And we serve as the pieces. Laughter fills the halls. It is combined with excited conversations and shouts.

I maneuver through the crowd. No reason to talk with the others. I had one goal: to go home. To be honest, I don't know exactly what home it is I want to go to, certainly not the one I had just left. If I don't want to go home, then where can I go? There are so many times I can ask Clyde to spend the night. I have often thought of asking Ronnie Anne. We have talked about. A few times. Just a few times.

I make it to my locker. I exchange masks of studious Lincoln to one of my facades. Which one? I am not sure today. I have many. Not many know of my true self. I don't know of my true self. I inhale sharply before exhaling loudly at my locker. I put my savior on the top part of my locker. It is hidden in plain sight. I don't know when I might use it again. But it won't be today.

I close the locker and make my way towards the exit.

I reach for my cell phone. There are two messages. One is from Ronnie Anne. She did not come to school today. I have her homework in my backpack. I will give it to her when I get the chance. Also, her parents are going out of town. She has the house to herself for the weekend. She wants to know if I can come over.

I let out a small sigh and a small smile. I look over the text.

The second message is from….

I hear the sound of a loud bang peddling the floor. I turn around and see a group of girls running from the scene. I hear a few sounds, but can't quite pick it up. It is too quick, too sudden.

When I finally collected my thoughts, I frown when knowing that it is Lucy on the ground. People stand around her and snicker. Lucy is on the floor. It looks that she was shoved against the wall and lost her balance.

No one helps. The bystander effect must be contagious as you guys are relishing this.

She kneels on the floor to pick up her books. Books on Shakespeare, Poe, and Freud are the victims of the following taunting.

I have no idea what overcomes me, but I walk to her direction.

She continues to pick up the books. She shows no emotion. It doesn't seem to phase her. Why? Because this is a common thing with her.

There are two kinds of people who interact with Lucy. Those who fear and those who torment.

As I manage to help her pick up the books, I felt a fierce slap hitting my hand. The slap is loud but silent enough for only the two of us to hear.

She stares at me. Her face frowns. She has one of her hands in a fist. I know. She knows. This is the only place where her dominion, her kingdom does not exist. She is in a fallible world. In this world, she is like everybody else.

"Don't deal with me when we are at school, you dog," she tells me. She snatches the book from my hand. "And I don't sure as hell want your fucking sympathy."

She stands up. She continues to walk away until I can no longer see her.

My brain finally catches up with the girls from earlier. My eyes are widened, but not surprised on what they have said or thought about Lucy.

_Gloomy Girl._

_Lucy the monster._

_The sad freak of nature. Go slash your wrist and die, you creep!_

Words, just words. Amazing how words can make or break a mood. Words have no mass, but man is it heavy. Amazing how on such a tiny muscle can be a powerful force.

Once again, I am standing on my knees.

I stand and reach into my pocket. I forget about the text message. I open it and read it.

**_I dread the events of the future, not in themselves but in their results._ **

It is a quote from Edgar Allan Poe.

Lucy sent it.

It is her cue. The mortar wants her pestle.

I receive another message.

**_Annabel wants a word tonight in her dominion, Edgar._ **

I feel a knot in my gut. I am trembling. Not again. Not again. Now I have reasons on why I don't want to go home.

I reach for my cell phone.

I wait for a couple of dials. It answers.

"Hello, loser. Glad to see that you are giving me a call," says the voice from the receiver.

I laugh. "Yeah, why wouldn't you. I mean, I am your boyfriend."

I know she is blushing. "I know, stupid. I know." She chuckles. "So, I guess you are calling to confirm that you are stopping by."

I still tremble. Yet, I am not ready to return home. Here comes my answer. "Yes."

"Great," she says. I know she is jumping in happiness before returning to her usual demeanor. "I mean, cool, whatever."

"Cool. So, I see you as soon as I can." I tell her.

"Can't wait," she tells me before hanging up.

My chest waves heavy. My face becomes drained. This can't go on. It just can't. Somebody has to know that what is going on with Lucy and me. What she is doing to me. What I did to her. I must hurry. Before, before….

Nothing.

I now return to my mind where you all reside. Wondering how you all can live with yourselves by watching me?

I was caught off guard from Lucy that I didn't know that she left my collar in my backpack.

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

_**Nothing good was going to come from this. It should have ended where it had begun.** _

I'm thinking of ending things.

Stress keeps building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are wondering on Lincoln's repetition of "Stress keeps building." It is a nervous tick of his. Sort of like Tourettes. The reason behind it will be revealed soon.


	7. Nevermore (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys. Here is another chapter of Behind the Tepid Light. This chapter, in particular, is sort of a filler, but does contain important detail in the future. I hope you enjoy. Thanks again and God bless!

* * *

_**-Isn't there some other kind of way to stop this? It doesn't have to end like this.** _

_-He knows too much. What if he does talk? And then what?_

_-Do you want to go to jail for this? We will never see the light of day again._

_**-He can keep quiet. I know him. He won't rat. In fact, we made a promise that he wouldn't rat.** _

_-What if he slips? What if he can't keep the story together? And then what?_

_**-He is just a kid. He is our friend. He is not that much younger than us. He is just a….** _

_-A witness. A witness I feel I can't trust._

_-She's right. He knows too much. Sorry, but why take that chance?_

_**-So, that's it? You guys are going to end him? Where is the loyalty in that?** _

_-You're right. Loyalty. That's why we have decided that it is you that is gonna end him._

_**-Me?** _

_-Yeah, you._

_**-No, I can't. No, I refuse. This is something I can't do.** _

_-You have a day. If the job is not done, we will do it. And when we end him, we will end you._

_**-But….** _

_-You have one day._

_**-Please, guys. No, this is not the way it was supposed to be. Please, please….** _

_-You have one day._

There is a vacancy where my soul used to be. It is now cast in iron. It is cascaded in the lake of fire. It is being wrapped around the rough, callous hands of the devil. He hardens it like a pit; depriving it of any nutrition or sustenance. It is reserved for when my time comes. It begins when I hear the words, "depart from me." The hint of brimstone relishes my nostrils; impacting my senses. It tells me to get used to my new home. _Our_ new home, the demons tell me while laughing and applauding to my misery.

The price of all this was very cheap. How cheap? More than you can imagine. But I am not there yet to explain. In fact, I do my very best to forget.

But, _**they**_ won't forget. They will never let me forget. So, no, nothing is unforgettable. It may have been forgiven. It might be water under the bridge. But it is in that river where your troubles are submerged. Submerged and hidden within those murky waters. However, nothing stays hidden forever. Eventually, the pressure gets released and suddenly makes its way to surface. It is there when they…

No, I can't say it. The demons laugh at me once again.

_Stress keeps building._

And eventually, that stress will come to the brim. Once it makes its tipping point, the moment in which I can no longer handle the perils of my pitiful existence. That is when I am planning to end it. How? I am not sure. Guess you need to find out.

I knock on the door of my girlfriend's house.

It takes awhile for her to answer the door.

I look around. Her house is not so different than mine. Of course, living in the same neighborhood it is not surprising that it was modeled after other homes. However, hers is somewhat different. She has a pine tree in her front yard where I have an oak tree. Her driveway is a single-car. There isn't the usual mess of childhood antics. Like baseballs and bikes and jump ropes, anything to let people know that there is a large family living in that residence. Her house is cleaner. Her lawn is well-trimmed. There are yellow flowers surrounding her bushes in her front yard. So, I can assume that her parents take care of their house.

I don't even think I have met her parents. She doesn't speak much of them in our conversations. She always says that they are busy. Busy? I always ask her. She always gives me a solid look. The look on which she doesn't want to further discuss things. This was not her first time to display that look on that occasion. The other time she gave me that look was when….

The door opens. I keep my composure. I don't want to display any signs of trouble. On the surface level, everything is supposed to be cool between us. Is it? Is everything cool between us?

The rattling of my collar in my backpack tells me otherwise. The neverending beeps of new voicemails on my phone tells me otherwise. I never answer them. It is always the same tone. Always the same pitch. The same troublesome, but fallible spirit, I call my sister, delivers in her message.

_Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore._

I become paralyzed by Lucy's sudden giggle before each messages end. The wind becomes heavy. There is a storm coming, I sense.

And it doesn't have to be literal either.

The sweet fragrance of magnolia exits the home. It smells nice. I smile, as much I could, to the vile, disgusted, foul, beloved woman that I call my girlfriend. Ronnie Anne.

"Look what the cat drop in," she tells me. She smiles as she leans against the door. I see her perspiring from her neck. It is giving off an aroma that becomes very alluring. I like it. Her sweat, I mean. It reminds me of our budding adolescence.

"Yeah," I chuckle. "The pellets that you like to enjoy and retch back." Her mouth is apage. She shouldn't be surprised as much time we have spent together that I was going to learn a trick or a trade from her.

There is a silence between us. But it is a comfortable silence. Sometimes, I think that is the best of silence. Where you have found the right person and don't have to produce anything to prove something. Sorry for being off-topic. I think too much.

"Well, are you going to look cute and stupid? Or you gonna come in," she says to me.

I shrug my shoulders and walk inside of her residence. I close the door behind me. This is the second time she called me cute. The first was when...,.

"Do you want anything to drink," she asks me. "Soda? Water?" She turns around then faces me. "There is some Fresca in the fridge."

"I am good, thanks."

She sits at the foot of the stairs. She is grunting, but at the same time appears agitated.

"Is everything alright," I ask her.

"Yeah," she says, but isn't looking in my direction. She shakes one of her legs, a twitch I quickly picked up when something is wrong. I know that she is lying.

I drop my backpack and sit next to her. I wrap my arms around her. Feeling her warmth makes my hair stand, or lack thereof, on the back of my neck. This is the perfect opportunity of being a supporting boyfriend. That is my role. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. I am her boyfriend. I am Lincoln and I am Ronnie Anne's boyfriend. She is Ronnie Anne and I am her boyfriend, Lincoln.

"Is this part of the reason for not being at school," I ask her.

"Yeah, sure," she responds.

She draws her eyes to me. They are puppy like. The eyes that tell you that all she wants is the comfort of her loved one. I am available. Physically I mean.

"How many days has it been," I ask her.

"I started feeling this way over the weekend. I have never felt this kind of sickness before," she explains. She wraps her arms around me. We hold on to each other tight. I gasp when she looks at my neck. I cover my neck as if I have an itch. She must not know. She must not know.

"Are you sure you want me to stay over," I ask her.

"I want you to stay," she tells me. "Well, enough about the facts of being a girl. How was school?" She changes the subject. That is her nature. When it is done, it is done.

I stay on the foot of the stairs catching her up on the latest at school. I had explained that our substitute teacher was grateful on her absence. I have motioned that her facial expression sealed the deal when the roll was called. She punches me on the shoulder for my lying. But I am not, I tell her. The teacher treated our class like it was a field day.

She giggles. That is the Ronnie Anne I know. The Ronnie Anne I care for. The Ronnie Anne I am lying, cheating, and deceiving.

There is a twitch a pain in the knot of my stomach. If I had ever had an ulcer, I bet this is the kind of feeling one expects. Now, I digress.

I suppress the pain for now. Like my inner demons, I keep it inside. Although hidden from by beloved, but the Lord knows. The Lord knows and so does the devil. And Lucy.

She takes me upstairs to her room. I only had two opportunities to explore her room. And those times were brief. The first time was when she told me to come over to get her sloppy joes. Her sloppy joes are good to me. I think that is the only thing she can make. But it is made out of love. At least that time, it was not from my pants.

The second time I had explored her room was when the night of our second double date with Lori and Bobby. We knew that Bobby and Lori were doing a make out session in the adjacent bedroom, so we decided to wait until they were finished.

There was silence. It was comfortable silence. We took glances at each other before averting away from the other. We were both on the edge of her bed. It was soft. Her comforters were pretty. Reminded me of Swan Lake. Unsure of its relevance with birds and comforters, but it is what it is. As I am saying, we sat quietly as we heard the moans of our siblings.

'Oh, my God, do you hear them in there,' asked Ronnie Anne.

'Heck yeah, they were like putty in each other's hand,' I replied.

She chuckled, then put her arm around my shoulder. 'Oh, Bobby,' she said while imitating my sister. 'I hope you don't get my bad side, then yet again. If you want it then I am fine with that.' She winks.

I coughed while trying my hardest to imitate her brother. 'Oh, Lori. Please understand, my armour. My corazon bleeds when you are not in my life. You make me feel funny things.'

She rebuttal. 'Oh Bobby, my loins linger at your remarkable form.'

'Oh Lori, you give me indescribable feelings. You, foxy chica, you. If I had roses for every year of your glorious age. It still won't be enough for my candid love for you.'

'Oh, Bobby!'

'Oh, Lori!'

'Kiss me now, por favor!'

'Si, senora'

We were laughing and giggling until we didn't realize that our hands were touching and we were face length with each other. My hands were sweating. My stomach was churning. We couldn't keep our eyes off of each other. She gently caressed her hand to my cheek. She rubbed it affectionately.

"Lincoln."

"Ronnie Anne."

She closed her eyes and I took the moistness of her lips. She tasted of root beer.

"You taste of Fromage Con Queso," she smirked.

I blushed. Not knowing how to respond.

She spoke seductively while grabbing my collar. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

I was blushing, turning beet red.

Out of nowhere, we started making out of her bed. She took the lead. My head hit the bedpost as she wrapped her tongue around me. She took off my shirt and I am unbuttoned her blouse. I let her do what she wanted.

We didn't have sex that night. The door from Bobby's room swung open. We were quick to return to our post. We did not talk about that night. The night where we were discovering our bodies. The night where Ronnie wanted to see the world of Lincoln and me, her.

The first time we did have sex, it was in the shed in her backyard. It wasn't even planned. I only went out there to look for a toolbox for Bobby. It was a lie. A lie concocted by Ronnie Anne. The moment where I entered the smoldering hotbox was where she laid her trap. Well played, well played.

However, none of this has happened this time. Part of the evening is spent being the prop of tilting her head over the toilet. She is very sick. The sounds of retching spread throughout the house. She is crying. She doesn't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Nevertheless, I will stay. I will stay. I. Will. Stay.

Stress keeps building.

At this point in time, I am sitting on her bed. The clock on her wall displays the time around 8 o'clock. I have already told my parents that I am staying with Clyde. And as a friend, he covered for me. Trust is something valuable to me. I often wish that my parents were not as trusting.

If I were a parent of 11 children, do you really trust your children? I remember a billboard advertising a movie with the same line. _It's 3 in the morning. Do you know where you children are?_

Now I digress.

Ronnie Anne is now in a new change of clothes. She has also taken a shower. The smell of her sweat and magnolia are disappeared. The smell of the bubblegum shampoo is wearing her now. She walks to her bed in fresh one-size pajamas. It is a reminder that she is still young. Let's keep it that way, I tell myself.

"Well, look who's comfortable," I tease her.

"Shut up," she says while blushing. "This is all that I've got. My stupid brother hasn't done the laundry yet."

"Where is your brother," I ask.

"Out of the country for the week. I think he is in Madrid this time."

"So this is the norm for you. With your family, I mean."

She shrugs. "Seems like it."

She pulls the book that I am reading and begins to kiss me. They are light, feathery kisses. I close my eyes as she once again takes the lead. She kisses the tip of the nose and aims for my mouth again. By that time, I am fully erect. I am trying my hardest to maintain composure.

"I thought you were sick," I tell her.

"I am. But your love can heal my sickness," she tells me before rolling over to the side of the bed.

I am grateful. She does not need to see the wounds. At the same time, she does not even notice the marks I have on my wrist. Being in a relationship means being observant. That is now concerning, but hell, what do I know?

"Do you feel a draft," she asks me.

"No, I don't," I respond.

She gets out of bed. She walks to the closet beside the bed and looks around. She frowns, then shrugs.

"What's the matter," I ask her.

"Were you in my closet while I was taking a shower? I wouldn't be mad if you were," she asks me.

"No, I wasn't. I don't even know what's in there," I respond.

"This door is normally closed," she tells me. "And why is the vent open." She goes into the closet. "That is strange," she says to herself. "There are some of the bolts on the ground."

"Weird, why," I respond.

"Maybe because it is where…." She stops and pulls out a bottle of alcohol. "...where I keep my secret stash."

It is a bottle of Chase. A type of British liquor. Ronnie Anne told me that her father got it on one of his travels in London. Wouldn't my father be proud of his young son to drink such a delicacy?

Now I digress.

We have spent the evening taking turns with our forbidden nectar. We pass it back and forth, taking swigs as if we are high schoolers getting drunk before the dance. There are instances in which we take more than we bargain.

When the bottle is half-finished, it is a few minutes past midnight.

The room turns into darkness. Ronnie Anne is sleeping beside me. She is breathing heavily. The combination of her sickness and her drinking could be the factor. Every now and again, I check under her nose to see if she alive. She is.

I am lying on my back, which is unusual. I normally sleep on my side or my stomach. It has been more frequent since me and Lucy….

I hate the darkness. It is there where they reside. Not just only my demons, but my thoughts. It is like the final wrap of the day. All of the days are recollected into one before falling into sleep.

There is a lot on my mind.

There is a lot on my mind.

There is a lot on my mind.

There is a lot on my mind.

I take a final swig of the Chase before drifting asleep.

_Lincoln, what's going on?_

_Is this some kind of joke?_

_C'mon, man. You know I won't talk. I wouldn't snitch. I am not a rat._

_Please believe me. Please, I don't want this._

_Please, I am sorry. No, No, no…._

I wake up in the middle of the night. I can't sleep. I check the bed to see if Ronnie Anne is there. She is. She is still asleep. I am hot. I am sweating. The pillow is moist. I grasp my head from a budding headache I am getting for my drinking. I sit up against the bed.

Something is different.

The door to her room is opened. That is not the only thing concerning me. The window to her room is opened. That is not the only thing concerning me. There is a dangling sound around my neck.

My heart leaps on what it is. I know what it is. I know what it is. I know what it is. I KNOW WHAT IT IS. I KNOW WHAT IT FUCKING IS. THE COLLAR. THE COLLAR. THE GOD DAMNED COLLAR.

Ronnie Anne doesn't know about it. No one does but trouble herself.

I heard a crackling sound next to the nightstand. I slowly make my way to the nightstand. It is a piece of paper. It is folded in neat squares. I begin to quiver my lip as I unravel the note.

There is a lump in my throat.

_**Nevermore** _

_Were you in my closet while I was taking a shower? I wouldn't be mad if you were._

Trouble was here.

_This door is normally closed._

She watched.

_And why is the vent open._

I hear a creaking sound. It is coming from all directions.

_There are some of the bolts on the ground._

Cold fingertips surround itself around my sunken eyes.

"Trouble is here, my dear Edgar." Her cold voice whispering. It slithers like a snake, tightly wrapping itself around my throat.

"Sigh," she tells me.

I slowly tilt my way into her direction.

There she is.

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality." I can feel her smile under her hot breath.

"Lucy," I say quietly, whimpering into the now still darkness.

"Nevermore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys have enjoyed this chapter. Let me bring you up to speed on the beginning dialogue of this chapter. This is going to be very important in the future; and how Lincoln became part of this twisted game. More things will become revealed as the story continues. Please feel free to comment, follow, and/or favorite. Thanks and God bless!


	8. Nevermore (Part III)

_I am thinking of ending things._

_Look down, I prey, from my unholy habitation. As I seek your face to covet in our ungracious sin. I wrap you. Swallow you whole until you are nothing left, but a pit. A pit that not even the crows or the vultures can gather what is ever left for nutrition._

_My approach is not like a thief in the night. Sneaking within your dwelling and takes what belongs to you. I am not like that. I will await you in the day, the night, the twilight, whenever. I seek you like you are a precious gift to her. I come in smiles; inviting and entrancing anyone who comes. Be as it may, those who become entrapped never be the same._

_You made me this way. You have created me, my dear big brother. You have impregnated a beast that can not fathom unless death is my revelation. However, I am the genesis and I have dominion over you. You may have created me, but I serve as your master._

_You have disobeyed me. And you must be punished._

_Tilt your head, big brother. And let your master serve your punishment._

Stress keeps building.

_Drip, drop_

_Drip, drop_

_Drip, drop_

I am drifting.

"Oh, my God. What the hell? Who the hell are you?"

My body feels heavy.

"Lincoln, where are you? Please, stay back. Stay the fuck back."

I feel suffocated. My fingers are running cold. My heartbeat is getting slower.

"Please, leave me alone. I have a family. Please don't hurt me. Whatever I did, I am sorry. I will do whatever you want. Just please don't hurt me."

The tongue is heavy. Slurring whatever words I can produce. Words that don't exist. Nothing. Just nothing.

"Lincoln! Lincoln! Help me! Help me!"

She screams. She calls my name rampantly. I hear a bang. It follows by another bang. It makes a crackling noise. She screams again.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

"Ronnie Anne," I faintly say into the night. But all I see is blackness. I don't see anything. But I hear screams.

_Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore._

_Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore._

I try with all of my might. I can't move. I can't move. My body is entangled. I am suffocating.

Mr. Bunny has his familiar grasp on my neck. But he isn't alone. The bedpost serves as his assistant.

I bang my head trying to fight. I gnash my teeth, but I can't move any further. The burning sensation in my shoulder is taking effect.

"Stop it, damn it. Lincoln! Lincoln!"

I am drifting. Drifting.

"You have disobeyed me, Edgar."

The warm, yet faint voice. Her soft and moist lips touch my earlobe. "And you must pay." She takes a bite. "Nevermore."

Darkness.

_Tell me, big brother. Why did you involve her? Am I not enough for you? Are you that gullible? Are you that stupid? Are you that fucking clueless? Are you that dense, you inconsiderate festering bowl of pus? Why her? Why her? Am I not enough? Am I not enough? Answer me!_

_You can't, can you?_

_You are clinging to life._

_My life is in your hands._

_I should let you die._

_But I won't. I won't let you die._

_I won't let you die._

_Insolent dog._

_Stupid big brother._

Stress keeps building.

_-Good Afternoon, I am Detective Wallace and this is Detective Fukuda from the Royal Woods Police Department. Wouldn't you mind us asking you a couple of questions?_

_-_ _**Sure, I don't mind. I have nothing to hide.** _

_-Excellent. Are you nervous?_

_-_ _**No, sir. What makes you say that?** _

_-You are turning pasty white._

_-_ _**I am fine. Just a little stressed.** _

_-Relax, we are not here to hurt you. We just want to talk. Is that okay?_

_-_ _**Yes, sir.** _

_-Excellent. The reason why we had you come down today is to discuss an incident that involved a child's death._

_-_ _**Yes, sir.** _

_-Do you know who we are talking about?_

_-_ _**No, sir.** _

_-We are talking about the death of Lindsey Sweetwater._

_-_ _**Okay. I know who she is. She was a rival of my sister, Lola. We have spoken from time to time, but nothing bigger than that.** _

_-Sources say that you and your friends were seen talking with Lindsey on the day of her death. Can you tell me from your own words what happened? Take your time. Tell me what were you doing with her and what were your whereabouts prior to her death._

_Prior to her death._

_Prior to her death._

_Prior to her death._

It is dark, but my eyes gradually adjust to the darkness. Darkness is something I am getting accustomed to. Darkness is something that is becoming more of a comfort. It is going to be forever my torment. The Lord will never receive this wretch.

This space is different. It feels very compacted. Also, there is movement. I am moving. When my senses return, I smell a hint of gasoline.

I am in a car. I am in the trunk of a car.

Stress keeps building.

I hear a grunt. It is muffled, but a grunt. I see black hair cascading in front of me like a flood of dark water.

There is a pregnant silence for a moment.

I just wanted to make sure she is breathing.

I know it is Ronnie Anne. The now faint smell of magnolias gives it away. Along with the scent is a smell of chloroform. Realization of the scent and with the scent of gasoline becomes nauseating.

I try to reach her, but no prevail. My hands are tied and so are my feet.

"Ronnie Anne," I say.

Silence.

"Ronnie Anne," I repeat louder.

"Mmm." She is groaning.

I try my hardest to maneuver my body to reach her. With another strength, I manage to get beside her. I can hear her groans.

Tears begin to form.

"I am sorry," I whisper to her. "I am sorry."

Does it reach her? Does it reach her? Her movement is very faint. I fear for the worst.

I can feel the roughness of the car tires rumbling over the road, jostling me all over. The blackness is invading my ears and nose and smothering my entire body. My skin is suffocating and is tender to every touch, sore from being smashed and thrown around inside of this dreaded trunk, at least that is what I think what happened.

I close my eyes, wishing for light. Wishing for something to contrast this. Nothing. Nothing happens. Just darkness.

 _Nothingness surrounds me, suffocates me. I am surrounded by emptiness. Stuck in quarters devoid of light. I may have found this comforting, but not now, not here._ _Here, I am stuck and insignificant. Hidden by shadow. If anyone's looking for me, they won't find me here, encompassed by the eerily familiar color of the night. The darkness reminds me that I do not know why I am here, That I do not who trapped me. Hauled me away as if I was nothing. Perhaps I am. The darkness has a sick way to it. A certain way of making you think, a certain way of bringing out your deepest fears._

Lucy read it to me. On the same day of Lindsey's disappearance.


	9. A Sinner's Thesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Here is another chapter of Behind the Tepid Light. Warning, this chapter discusses issues on self-mutilation and depression. As a reminder, I do not support and/or condone these sort of things. This is a work of fiction. If this chapter proves to be sensitive, by all means, ignore. I understand. However, for those who can deviate reality from fantasy, please continue to read. Enjoy this chapter and God bless!

_Scars._

Everybody has them. Cliche it sounds, but is it true? Is it true that we have them and that is one of the few things that we can all share? Burdens that are laid like railroad tracks. Intricate and complex since its origin. It has a history. A genesis and a revelation. Some are visible, some are hidden. Of course, the visible ones takes bandages or etched on our skins. And for those who are worthy enough, better yet, have the nerve to ask about it. How did you get? Where did you get it? Who? Why? Many, many questions.

Are you willing to answer?

Do you care to explain?

Is it easy like tying your shoe? Or is it hard like carrying weights?

Whatever comparison you use, be as it may that the cause and the effects of scars have consequences. Consequences on the good or the bad.

Then yet again, what do I know? The _DSM-IV_ that my father keeps in his basement can better explain it better than I can.

Be as it may, scars are either visible or hidden.

Some that visible are can fade and become part of us. Just a reminder of what was once to be. Or it never goes away, hidden within and taking residence where it counts, the heart. And when we die, it envelops in our soul.

It is never easy with scars. Just another cross to bear. We are bound to get them. Scars, I mean. It is how we handle them that makes the difference.

But, I am not as strong as I pretend to be. Even levelheaded kids like myself have succumbed to the mental trenches of depression.

Stress keeps building.

_Scars._

* * *

 

I allow my scars to be hidden away from sight. Away from my parents, my friends, my girlfriend. Hidden in a certain compartment that is reserved for me and my God. Alongside with my demons.

The bathroom is where I go to purge upon my scars.

It was there on the toilet where I relieve my stress. The pressures of my day; the pressures of my anxiety. My release.

My savior pleaded for my blood as I made contact on my thigh. That escape, that release, that full control I have in my life. It was there that no one can tell me what to do. It was the moment where Lincoln Loud can make any decisions.

By then, the pain that once hurt me turn into numbness. I clenched my teeth and made my second contact. A bit of blood splashed on the seat. It had once again ejaculated any problems. Especially since….

I had heard a noise coming from the vent. The monotonous voice rattled out of the vents like someone was congested. I knew who they were. No longer was I surprised where they go when they wanted private time.

'How many days has it been since she has been in her room?'

'It has gotten to a point where I have lost count.'

'This worries me. I knew she was, you know, off. But this is not your typical reclusiveness.'

'You're right, dear. She lies in bed all day. She does not eat. She does not drink. She just sleep.'

'I know. Have you contacted the doctor, yet?'

'I have. He will come tomorrow for another prognosis.'

'This is scary. I am worried.'

'We shouldn't be. We are her parents.'

'They are starting to talk. They are becoming worried.'

'She is their sister. If anything, they need to support her.'

'They are scared, Lynn. Lori thinks that she is harming herself again.'

'No, she couldn't be, Rita. We have been down that road and gave her the support through counseling.'

'She had found razors, Lynn.'

The rattled vent went silent for a moment.

'Where, Rita?'

'Lori found them in the trash can when she was taking out the trash. It was fresh. So much so that she can smell the iron, she said.'

'Are you sure?'

'Makes sense, doesn't it. Confined to her room, reclusiveness, and lack of eating. This is not her first rodeo.'

'It is not. But what is setting her off? God knows that I don't want to relive the first time. What had set her off? Oh my God, what is going on with this family?'

'These are things that are well beyond our control, Lynn.'

'Not in this family.'

I didn't want to hear any more. I sighed as I grab a roll of tissue to clean the mess. To hide my sins. I have removed parts of my savior to another place where they couldn't find it. It was flushed down the toilet along with everything else.

I had whispered an apology to my parents and to Lucy.

For it was her who was going to take the blame, this time.

I didn't want to explain to my parents, to my sisters, or to Lucy on why I was doing this. I have felt that this was the only option. The only way I could have control. Pain for pain, I have told myself repeatedly. The atonement of the sin I have done. An eye for an eye, I have told myself. A penance in order to be accepted in the lamb's book of life.

I have wondered on how many times have God scribbled over my name.

Stress keeps building.

That evening, I wasn't hungry. I haven't been keeping an appetite either. Instead of eating dinner with the family, I have grabbed an apple and made my way to my bedroom.

On my way to my bedroom, I saw that there was a crack in the door to Lucy's room. I had froze. Surprised to see it opened. Then yet again, I shouldn't. I mean, she didn't stay alone until recently. Aroused by my own curiosity, I peered to the door.

I have heard sniffling. My heart sank knowing to see my sister in that predicament. I clenched my chest, digging my nails into the skin. I wanted to hurt. I wanted skin to be broken. If I could, I would give my heart to her for forgiveness. Some kind of restitution to end her burden.

For it was my fault that she was in that mess.

'Lincoln,' said the raspy-voiced Lucy.

My voice cracked a little. I was surprised to hear her speak. It has been quite awhile, I may add. I was still frozen, riveting in fear. I stood there.

She called my name again.

'Lincoln.'

I answered.

'Hey, Lucy.'

A stale mildew scent emitted into the hallway. It was very musty but gave me a hint that something was in the room. I swallowed nothing.

'Are you okay?' I asked her.

I was still standing at the foot of the door. I couldn't see her, but the sound of her sniffling reminded me that she was in there.

'Look, if you want to be alone, I understand.' I told her. 'I will be in my room….'

'Wait,' she said.

The darkness in the room became lighter as she emerged to the door.

She had an aura of gray around her. It was a mist that wouldn't rise. It looked like she had a terrible weight on her shoulders. It was as if a giant boulder was laid on her and she couldn't straighten up or catch her breath entirely.

Her eyes were puffy from crying because she couldn't stop crying for the last three days. She was dehydrated and sore.

Sobs raked her body, no one should be able to cry that hard.

I wish I was dead. Guilt wrapped around me like a quilt. I became suffocated that tears began rolling down my eyes. I wanted to wrap my arms around that wretched creature. The poor, pitiful kindred spirit. The kindred spirit in which was corrupted by an incident that I have caused.

I have hugged her. She stood motionless. She was cold.

Neither of us could look at each other in the eye.

'Care to keep me company,' she asked me.

I nodded my head. 'Sure.'

I went inside her abyss and closed the door behind me.

If I knew then what I know now that day. For it was the day when Annabel was born.

* * *

_Yo, guys! Check it out! You wouldn't believe what I just got._

_What did you get?_

_A device that can end our troubles._

_**What is it?** _

_It is quite a shocker if you can catch my drift._

_**What does it do?** _

_It shouldn't matter what it does, but how it is going to work in our favor._

_**Is it safe? Is it lethal? You are going in circles. You are not explaining any further.** _

_That is because, my friend, I want to test it on somebody to see if it works._

_Who is willing to try that?_

_Someone that doesn't know us. Or wouldn't expect what is coming to them._

_**That concerns me.** _

_Everything concerns you. Shall we try it on you?_

_**No, I don't mean that. It is just where are we going with this?** _

_We will find out after we test it on somebody._

_Awesome! So, when you want to do this?_

_Today, after school ends. Let's meet at our usual spot._

_Okay, cool. Are you down, Lincoln?_

_Lincoln, are you coming with us?_

_**I will be there.** _

* * *

 

_Scars._

Everybody has them. Cliche it sounds, but is it true?

_**Yes.** _

Is it true that we have them and that is one of the few things that we can all share?

_**Certain as mankind's love for things for control, destruction, hope, peace, hate, and everything in between.** _

Burdens that are laid like railroad tracks. Intricate and complex since its origin. It has a history. A genesis and a revelation. Some are visible, some are hidden. Of course, the visible ones takes bandages or etched on our skins. And for those who are worthy enough, better yet, have the nerve to ask about it. How did you get? Where did you get it? Who? Why? Many, many questions.

Are you willing to answer?

_**Are you capable of answering?** _

Do you care to explain?

_**Are you willing to admit fault? Are you compelled to admit the sins that are becoming tied into your predicament?** _

_The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame._

Edgar Allan Poe quoted it. Those are the first words that Lucy speaks after opening the trunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to explain this chapter. The beginning is a flashback of Lincoln's past. I don't want to release too much, but the situation with Lucy does involve with Lindsey Sweetwater. The latter part does involve Lindsey as well. You may wonder what does she have to do with Lucy and Lincoln? Everything. For she is part of the catalyst of the chain of events. However, she is only part of the tirade. Stay tuned and find out. Thanks for reading.


	10. A Sinner's Remorse

Troubled thoughts ran through my troubled mind. And yes, my mind is troubled. It is true in the bible that we were born into sin. Therefore, we must die in sin. For the Earth is uncleaned according to Christ himself. It also states when we pass over, a new being is formed. We become a new person.

Only, if we have passed the test of our faith. Only, if we have been accepted into the lamb's book of life. Only, if we have shown forgiveness of our transgressions. If only, if only. A condition of a prerequisite into the kingdom of heaven.

A ticket of admission I feel that I have been denied

_I hope that savior of yours tell you to depart from him._

I can't quite fully remember what she told me as I straddled for life by her soft and delicate fabric of her sock. However, it resonates within me and the indentures of my burning neck.

I wish she was wrong.

I wish she is wrong.

I hope she is wrong.

I know she is not wrong.

Can God accept me? Can he? Would he accept me? Would he accept a wounded lamb? Would he accept a boy who is delved into the sin of all sins? Why is it so hard to tell him that through my slothful lips?

Because there is part of me that has a hard time forgiving.

Who am I holding back from? Why am I holding back?

I know why.

Hell, he knows why.

And for sure, the demons know why?

God may cover your slate and wipe it clean. A rose can form from concrete. However, just because the former slate is purified through heat and cleanses the slab, it is still there. Just like scars, it remains. It forever remains.

A splash of water hits me.

"Wake up," says the stern voice.

I cough. Surprised how caught I am in thought to realize where I am. I turn over to see if Ronnie Anne is still okay. She is not there. I am alarmed. I am flinching in fear to know what Lucy did to her. Is she still with me? Is she still alive? Oh no, oh no. I am trembling and shaking throughout my body. I mutter out her name, but enough to not let Lucy know.

I don't want to further piss her off.

I have already disturbed the mind of Annabel.

_Nevermore._

She grips my hair and slams it harshly against the roughness of the trunk. "Wake your pitiful ass up, dog," she screams. The brashness hits me. It hurts. I open my eyes and tilt my head to her.

Her face, paler than the moon itself, displays terror. Her wrinkled face, showing anger, frustration, and angst. Her hands wrapped tightly like something she is trying to protect.

Before I have a chance to respond, my face makes contact with her fist.

"Bitch," she screams. That is hit number one. Pressure ascends. I do nothing. Even if I could, my hands and legs are tied.

"Insolent sack of flesh," she screams. That makes her second hit. Each hit brings greater pressure. My left eye is blinded by such red liquid. I know it is blood, but I pretend that it is my penance. I am paying for my sins.

"You damned bastard," she screams. Hit number three.

"Asshole."

"Why did you?"

"How could you?"

"You bastard!"

"Die."

"I hate you."

"Take this beating!"

Each tone, each note, each word, each syllable ascends more pressure as I am serving as her punching bag. My cheeks become swollen. My eyes are swelling. It is becoming difficult to breathe. I tilt in and out of consciousness.

"Answer me!" She screams again. By that time, I can feel blood coming out of my throat. I am spitting.

The smell of gasoline envelopes around my nose. The taste of iron impacting my taste buds. There is a strong ringing in my ear. My vision is becoming blurred. My body becomes more tender to the touch.

"I am sorry." That is all I can say.

She becomes motionless. I watch as she unwraps her fist that is coated in my blood. She stares at me. Her body relaxes. She now displays calmness.

"I am, too," she says. She moves her bangs where I can see her eyes again.

She sits down at the foot of trunk. Her eyes never leaving my sight.

She sighs.

"You had one job," she tells me. "Your job is to serve me."

"Luce," I tell her.

"No matter how I am. No matter what I do. You must abide under me," she tells me.

"Luce," I say again.

"But alas, you disobeyed me," she says. She kind of chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. She puts her hands on my hair. "What amazes me, Lincoln is that you allow yourself to live in this sin. You allow these things to happen because it makes me think you enjoy what I do to you."

I don't say a word.

"I know, you know," she says before pausing. "And that putrid, insolent bitch knows what and who you are." There is venom coming from her taste.

"Luce," I say again.

"Luce, Luce, Luce," she says in a mimicking manner. "Is this all you say with those lips of yours. Those lips have tasted more than just blood, big brother. Those lips have spoken more than your lies, big brother."

She leans closer to me. Her catlike eyes entrance me. "Your lips have gotten you into a manner where this is no return. Your lips took many things away. And you think 'sorry' is going to take that back?"

I quiver my lips for she is right. Tears begin to release from my swollen eyes. The river of tears and blood leak onto the trunk floor. Her expression is unchanged.

"Oh for God's sakes," she scoffs. "Do you think your tears can move me, you dog. Do you think this is going to get you out of this mess?"

"I...am...sorry," I muster to say in between sobs. "I...am...sorry. I am sorry, Lucy. I am sorry for what I have done to you. I am sorry for getting you involved in this mess."

She closes her eyes and put her cold palm around my cheek. She caresses her hand to my cheek to collect any of my tears. She faces me and presses her lips to mine. I don't flinch as she envelops her lips around me. I taste the forbidden sin that the demons within applaud.

This is not the first time I have kissed my sister.

There have been many times I have with her.

And that was at this particular juncture.

The first time it happened was shortly after the incident.

She breaks the kiss. I am beginning to feel lightheaded.

She looks at me again and smiles. She then closes the trunk.

"Lucy," I scream. "Lucy. Get me out of here."

Then suddenly, I hear a sound that makes me stop everything.

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

Four shots. Four intervals in between seconds. It does not have to take a genius to know what sounds you just heard. Each shot is calculated and precise. There is a lump in my throat. There is a chill in my spine.

I have watched enough movie to know that I have indirectly witnessed an execution.

I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

I press my lips where she was sitting beside me. If I would have known that my final moments of Ronnie Anne was going to be in the trunk of the car, I would have come up with something better. Even if it was a lie, I would have wanted to give her final moment something to smile for.

I would have told her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to have many children with her. I wanted to grow old with her.

But that would have been must of a cliche of me. Of us. At least there was an _us_.

I would have told Ronnie Anne about my undying love for her. When we would have finished school, I wanted to take her to her native Cuba. Enjoying ourselves on the beach and making fun of the locals of the town. We have walked to the statue of Fidel Castro and give it the middle finger. But the same time thank him for producing such pressure to a citizen who vies to leave for America to search for a piece of freedom.

If it wasn't for Fidel, then Ronnie Anne wouldn't have been in my possession. She would not have been at my reach.

That is something I would have told Ronnie Anne. Whispering it in her ear. The smooth waves of my gentle voice giving her some hope that she can get out of this.

But instead, she is somewhere unknown on the gravel dead. Her final resting place. Her final moments of life in the eyes of the devil.

The devil in which I have created. The devil that I have incepted.

So, no I am not qualified to enter the lamb's book of life.

I hear the sound of the engine running. The night is far from over yet.

It is now me and her.

Stress keeps building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading this chapter. I hope it was to your reading pleasure. In the next chapter, it is going to be a flashback chapter. I think it is time for you fans to know how did Lincoln get himself involved with Lucy. Also, it will answer questions on how Lindsey was involved and our mystery person as well (for those paying attention). Also, I am still new to combining flashback and present parts in stories, so bear with me. Please continue to comment, bookmark, subscribe, and/or kudos. Thanks and God bless!


	11. A Sinner's Regret (Part I)

_**I had a scary dream, Lincoln. I dreamed that something was going to tear us apart.** _

_Bang_

_**It was neither human nor beast. But it was a force. Just a dark ball of gelatinous mass.** _

_Bang_

_**It covered me whole. It had consumed my flesh. I felt a burning sensation. It was absorbing me. Taking away all of my strength.** _

_Bang_

_**I've cried for you, Lincoln. Waiting for you to rescue me. To save me from this dark ball of pure rage.** _

_Bang_

_**When you came, the more potent it became. The more I feel it tearing me apart.** _

_Bang_

_**I have felt that the closer you were, the more enraged it got. My skin exposed; showing the bone.** _

_Bang_

_**It was like. It was like.** _

_Bang_

_**It was like something did not want us to be together.** _

_Bang_

_**Lincoln, Lincoln. Stay by my side. Never leave me. I know you have every right to hate me. I know you have every right to leave.** _

_Bang_

_**Stay by my side, please. I need you, Lincoln. Never leave me.** _

_Bang_

_**Because no matter what. Even if you hate me. Even if you call them. Even if…. Even if you confess to them, I will always love you.** _

_Bang_

_**Just stay by my side. Never leave me. I am not good with words. Let my actions show how much I need you.** _

Riveting, chilling words that are tearing a hole into my decaying, cavern heart like an ember. Riveting, chilling words that are burning my eyes with my hot tears. Riveting, chilling words that run through my spine, compelling me and consuming what is left of the oxygen in my traveling confinement to scream out whatever is left of me.

Riveting, chilling words that can no longer speak. A voice forever silenced. What were her final thoughts? Her sight? What moments did she envision by seeing the sight of the bright light that concave and pierced through her bronze skin? Through the bright flashes of the weapon that served as her judge, her jury, and her executioner; did she see me?

Did she remember her first words? Did she remember her first steps? When did she tell her parents she loved them? When she told her brother she loved him? And when we shared our love in her bedroom, and we both whispered in between pants that we loved each other?

It tears me within. Opening old wounds that my savior pleaded in earlier times. I perpetuated a force that is tearing my life apart. It is because of me that I am lying in the trunk of the car. I am the reason why my sister is in this state of mind. I am...I am….

What the hell have I done?

Stress keeps building to the brim and eventually, the brim will runneth over. The floodgates of my personal hell will overshadow the surface. The surface that I will like to call the shell of Lincoln Loud. We can keep appearance. But how long can a facade last?

If I could. If I could. And if I am alive to make it through this. I will go to the bereaved family of Ronnie Anne and tell them….

No, I can't. I didn't want to tell Ronnie Anne this, but in a way, I think she knew. I was snooping around the house and discovered a closet. The smell of rotten carcass, scented candles, and tarot cards lured me to the fact that something was not right. A feeling consumed me. No, it consumed my demons for they inhale this scent many, many times before. I should know. For I am not their first rodeo. One of them told me that they were present during the betrayal of Christ in the Last Supper. Another one told me she was present when Judas line the rope to bid his final farewell before descending to his final home.

One of them told me that spirits lured over Ronnie and Bobby. At this moment, I know their parents are placing a curse and me and the family.

Even Lucy knows. She doesn't care. Combative as she is in her mysticism, she loves a challenge. Don't be surprised if more causalities result after this.

Who is the sole person responsible for the demise? The person in charge of this domino effect? Me. I have picked the path and rolled my future. And once you did that, you can't repeat the past. What's done is done.

Stress keeps building.

We live on borrowed time, some of us at least. We barter with Father Death as much as we can. To see if we are lucky to correct any wrongs, modify our mistakes, or create an incentive for others to correct our wrongs for us; the descendants, I mean.

Once and only once, Lisa wanted a semen sample from me. She already knew of my budding adolescence. She called it research and I believed her. I pray to God that she keeps it in reserve. A legacy must continue. Someone has to correct my wrongs.

And whoever is lucky to create a being from me….

Never mind that. The scent of the gasoline fumes is messing with my head.

* * *

_**If I can't tell the whole truth, then let's not say anything.** _

Those were the last words I have told my teacher. We were concluding our lesson on citizenship. The words, white and bold, in the center of the whiteboard. _What does it mean to be a good citizen?_

I told her honesty. We must be honest when we do the right thing. We must be honest when we are wrong.

Her warm smile she usually gave us was welcoming. She was happy to know that her philosophy of citizenship and good will were finally reaching her students.

Not all of them, teach. Not all of them.

The bell rang and class was dismissed. I was the first to leave. As instructed, I was told by my friends to meet them at my locker.

It was a Friday afternoon. It was a warm, beautiful sunny day. Not being cliche, but it was perfect weather. The conditions were great. Not a cloud in the sky.

However, certain friends I knew had their own forecast brewing.

I went to my locker and put all of my items in there. I was swift and quick. Fortunately, on weekends, we didn't have homework. So, there was no reason of having my backpack. However, today was an exception.

When I closed the locker, she came first.

"'Sup, idiot," she told me with usual wit.

On the surface, I pretend to be my casual self. It was always like that when I am with her.

"Hey, Ronnie Anne," I responded while scratching the back of my head.

"Are you ready for today," she asked with a smile.

"Ready as I can be," I told her. I was lying. Why should I be ready for an act that is going to change the dynamic of our relationship?

"I am definitely ready," said another voice from behind.

It was Clyde. Clyde was leaning against the locker with his usual demeanor. That was at least how it looked.

"And so am I," said the final person of our act.

Rusty Spokes approached us and placed his shoulder on Clyde. Rusty was not supposed to be with us, but he was the go-to guy with bikes. Ronnie hooked us up with him at the least minute. He was very reasonable on joining. The only incentive was if he could get a picture of Ronnie's breast.

She gave him one better. She showed him a device that alerts people of perverts and predators. Once again, Rusty was reasonable.

"Let's go," said Ronnie Anne. "We need to get to Rocky's house first to get our bikes. Plus, we need to change clothes."

"Clothes," I said, "What for?"

She flicked my forehead. "Because stupid. We don't want to get caught, don't we? Now, let's get out of here. We are already wasting time as it is."

The four of us were picked up by Clyde's parents. His biological father asked us about school. Of course, Clyde was detailed and expressed excitement. His other father noticed the extra excitement in the tone of his voice.

"Did something happened at school today," asked his father.

"No," said Clyde. "Just glad for it to be the weekend." He looked at us with a sly look. The others were following along with him. He then added, "Just reeling in excitement to hang out with my friends on this three day weekend. It is going to be quite a _shocker_."

Rusty and Ronnie Anne chuckled loudly with Clyde. I kept quiet. My conscious was knocking on my door to alert me to leave, get out, abandon ship, do something.

I was already too deep. No matter how much I could change their mind. No matter how much I could plead with them to stay out of it. I am now an all-knowing participant.

I once heard in a rap song while I was hanging out with them the weekend before the day of our "plan in action." _Blood in, blood out. Either ride with us or die by us._

Ominous words that were giving me hints. My mom told me that warning comes before destruction.

Stress keeps building.

They dropped us off at Rusty's house. We all thanked Clyde's parents before walking to the driveway that led to the detached garage.

Rocky pulled out the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. When the lock was unhinged, he opened the door and we stepped inside.

We took a seat at the bean bag chairs. He turned on the radio and heavy bass rap music filled the stale air of the garage.

Rusty retrieved a box that was hidden in sight. They were his dad's marijuana. He retrieved one, lit a match, and inhaled. Afterward, he passed to Clyde where he consumed. And then to Ronnie Anne. I declined to smoke.

I was not surprised when I was laughed at. In an instant, Ronnie Anne grabbed my collar and enveloped me with her lips along with the marijuana smog. I was coughing loudly as I knew I was getting a contact high. My face was flushed and became tightening by the guilt I was being fed and the burning sensation of the cannabis.

Everything was set in phases. The first phase was complete. Here came the second phase.

"Give her the call, Lincoln," said Ronnie Anne after taking another smoke. Clyde pulled out a cell phone and gave it to me.

The phone was a prepaid cell phone. Clyde told me that they called them burn phones. When he and his parents were out of town, he secretly brought a burn phone.

That's right. Everything was planned.

Sweat beaded down my forehead. My underarms were wet. You could see it through my shirt. My fingers trembled as I couldn't believe I was pushing the buttons to...pushing the buttons to….

_If I can't tell the whole truth, then let's not say anything._

I was pushing the buttons to set up someone. Someone who didn't have any enemies. Just pure innocence. Someone that they just decided that they were going to get.

Excuse me, we were going to get. Just because I disagreed with it, I was still guilty by association.

I picked up the phone and I dialed for Lindsey.

"Hello, Sweetwater Residence," said the voice. I presumed to be Lindsey's mother.

"Hi," I said. "I am one of Lindsey's classmates. I wanted to see if Lindsey's home."

"May I ask who is calling," asked the mother.

"This is...um...Sandy," I said to her.

"Okay, just a second," said the mother.

After a few moments, Lindsey was on the other side. My chest became heavy. So did my tongue.

"Hello," asked Lindsey.

"Hey, Lindsey," I said. "This is Lincoln. Lola's sister."

She sighed. We had some issues in the past involving my sister.

"What do you want this time," she asked me in a frustrated tone.

"Nothing," I responded. My friends gave me a look of frustration as well. Their eyes stared at me like daggers. Each with such articulate manner that I was afraid that I was going to be killed immediately after the phone call.

"If it is nothing, then I am going to hang up," she said.

"No, I wanted to talk about something that may interest you," I told her. "About Lola."

She paused for a moment. I thought she might be thinking.

"I am listening," she said.

"Lola liked how we were conspiring against her," I told her. "She admired your charisma. She admired how you were giving her a run for her money."

"I am listening," she said.

"Lola wonders if we can meet somewhere this evening and discuss strategy," I told her.

My friends gave me a thumbs up while snickering.

"Strategy," she said. "For what reason, you imbecile?"

"There is a competition coming up and there is a new person in the market who supposed to upcoming sensation, or something like it.," I told her. "And she is not liking it. And she thinks if you two join forces, then you can level out the competition."

Her tone changed. I got her where I wanted her, unfortunately. I had really wished she just hang up.

"So Lola wants to make a deal with the big guns," she said while chuckling. "Why not? An enemy of my enemy is a friend."

I wanted to die.

"When and where, Lincoln," she asked me.

My friends were mouthing to me the location and the time.

"Do you have a notepad or a phone," I asked her.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Okay," I said. "Meet me at Old Royal Park by the old rec center around 7 PM."

"Can we make it 6:30? I have to be home by 7:30 before the streetlights come on."

"We can make 6:30"

"Sounds like a plan. Looking forward to seeing you and Lola."

"Ok, then. Goodbye."

"Bye."

She hangs up. The garage was filled with laughter.

"Oh my God, Lincoln," said Rusty.

"Look at my buddy being a co-conspirator," said Clyde.

"I have always loved a convict," purred Ronnie Anne.

I did not say a word. I gave the device that contracted Lindsey's fate back to Clyde. I already want nothing more of this.

After a few hours of heavy rap music, smoking, and creating alternatives and alibis, here came phase three.

We came out of the garage. It was an hour before our "plan of action."

We walked into Rocky's house. We needed baths and our change of clothes.

Ronnie Anne and I shared a shower. I sat quietly on the shower floor. I watched as she was bathing herself. Seeing the suds rolling down such a beauty like that. Her butt was facing me. She was cleaning herself thoroughly.

We were both silent. I also heard her saying the prayer of the virgin Mary.

Even I believed that for a moment, she too was hesitant.

She kneeled down and gave me a kiss. She wrapped her arms tight around me as we were consumed in our kisses. Tears rolled down my eyes. Thank God it was disguised by the shower.

We were fully dressed and ready. We all wore the same attire: black jackets and black jogging pants. Ronnie Anne brought the clothes from different thrift shops. She surveyed the places where cameras were not present. She even bought the items at different times. She paid cash. No sense of a paper trail.

Yes, this was planned.

I was the only one who didn't wear a wig. Lindsey needed to see a familiar face. I mean, she was expecting me.

We stepped out of the house and were heading back to the garage. Behind the garage and camouflaged were our bikes. They were spray painted in black. Rusty was gifted in assembling bike parts.

Yes, this was planned.

"Got it from different places throughout the city," said Rocky. "Can I deliver or what?" There was pride in his voice on his dedicated craft.

"If you say so," said Ronnie Anne. She rolled her eyes. Rocky did not pay it any mind. Clyde went back to the garage after Ronnie Anne motioned to get the final phase of our "plan of action."

Clyde returned with a green backpack. The band, SMOOCH, was on the cover of the backpack.

"Here it is," said Clyde.

"Thanks," said Ronnie Anne. She retrieved the backpack and put it on her back.

"So, explain again on what we are going to do," asked Rusty. "Remember that I came in at the last minute."

Ronnie Anne darted quickly at Rusty. She then sighed before returning to her demeanor. "Okay, this is what we are going to do." She showed the backpack. "Not too long ago, I went on the internet and order a device. Well, the device is actually a taser. I have used Bobby's account to order it. Bobby's so damn busy with Lori that he doesn't notice. When it came, I knew I was going to need some help with this. And that's when I include Clyde."

"Allow me to explain," said Clyde with pride.

That moment on when seeing my best friend was giving supporting details on this, I knew we would never be the same. Our innocence was fading away. Layer by layer.

"I have got some fish wire from my dad's garage. It's no problem. The fruits weren't going to fish anyway," he said before laughing.

Those were your parents, I told myself. No matter how you feel about homophobia or having two gay fathers, at least you were loved.

Stress was building.

He added. "Where the button is located on the device to push the button, I drilled a tiny hole in it. With the fish wire, I put it in the hole and intertwined it with a metal ring."

"So, what's next," asked Rusty.

"Well," interjected Ronnie Anne. "The metal ring is a conductor of sorts. It is going to be needed when we placed it in the backpack." She looked at me with such grimace. She furrowed her eyes before giving me a wink. "The fish lining is wrapped around the zipper of the backpack. Carefully, it is placed inside."

"That's when Lincoln comes in," said Rusty.

"Catching on, quickly aren't you," said Clyde.

"Lincoln is our distraction," said Ronnie Anne. "Lincoln is going to meet our _victim_ at the park. He is going to let her know that there is a package for her in the backpack. When she opens it, then blam!"

"And the final phase is complete," said Clyde.

"So," asked Rusty was scratching his head. "Why are we involved? I mean, if Lincoln is the one baiting her, then what's the endgame?"

Ronnie Anne and Clyde looked at each other.

"The end," she simply said. She spat on the ground. Those words were chilling, I thought.

"Let's go," she said.

She took my hand and I was headed to the bikes with her. Before we departed, she whispered in my ear. "Don't let that thing you call a conscience get in the way. Fuck your pride. Pride only hurts. It never helps. Act like a pussy when you get out there, then I will be forced to do something I don't want to do. Understand me?"

I shook my head in agreement. She blew into my ear before getting on her bike. We all left Rusty's house and we were on our way to our destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is making a chilling turn and it is far from over. To be continued in the next chapter. Thanks for reading and God bless!


	12. A Sinner's Regret (Part II)

The mask of the day was exchanging its mask for the evening time. Although it was too early for crickets to chirp, but the fall of the night was inevitable. The gang and I took a slight detour to the gas station. Rusty's bike was getting low on air. We had to pull over so we can get it handled.

Not wanting any cameras to pick us up, we were waiting behind the building that was being renovated as a juke joint. Ronnie Anne was certain for us to not be seen.

"Early up and take care of your shit." Ronnie spat at Rusty. "Master of your craft, my ass."

Rocky scoffed before making his way across the street.

"Wait a minute," screamed Ronnie Anne. "The wig?"

Rusty flushed before removing the wig and tossing it beside Clyde.

"Hurry up and be quick with this," said Ronnie Anne.

Rusty scoffed once more before crossing the street with his bike. His body language was showing he was trying to keep a calm demeanor. _Yeah, that's right. I am relaxed. I am just getting some air for my bike. I am not doing anything sinister. Just a happy-go-lucky kid who is getting on his way home._

_Home._

_Home._

A place where I wanted to be. Nestled in my domicile of my bed. Reading comics and manga; catching up with my television shows, and spending time with my family.

I quivered knowing the thought that when I was coming home tonight, a burden was layered on me. Mom and Dad were not going to see the pride and joy they called their son. On the surface, maybe, but no within.

_Mom, Dad. I am afraid that after tonight, you will add to the resume that your pride and joy is a criminal; a convict; and fearfully, a murderer._

On the way to the gas station, Ronnie Anne boasted about the amount of voltage of the contraption that she and Clyde made. They were sure it was going to make damage. I dared not to question them any longer. The night before when Ronnie Anne came over to borrow some duct tape (looking back on how gullible I was. She had hidden in her back pocket.). I used my final chance, to reconsider, to not go through with this. Angrily, she wrapped her fist and aimed for it. But instead, she hit the wall. A small dent on my wall, followed by blood and her constant panting.

'Next time you bring this up, or your face will be on the other side of it.'

I whimpered and nodded that I have understood.

Once she relaxed, she pushed me to the bed. She wanted a quickie before she departed into the night. She had such an adrenaline rush. I clung tightly around the bed. Clamping my fingertips to the blanket as she ravished me. When she was like that, in her mode, she was very aggressive.

The quickie was fast as the moment she planned on that she wanted to hurt someone. She wasn't the only one. Clyde wanted to join. And when learning Rusty had sudden interest, it became a trinity.

Where did I become involved? I….

"Lincoln, Lincoln." She snapped at me. My eyes and my thoughts returned to reality. "Remember the plan. You have to make this look convincing."

I gave her a blank stare. Was this real? Was I listening to the same Ronnie Anne? The tomboy who opted out of skateboarding, skating, and bike riding in exchanged of committing a crime.

The same girl where we played video games together. Be as it were at the arcade or at my home. The same girl where he shared many kisses and many lovemaking. That was not the same girl. The Ronnie Anne I knew would've never made this decision to harm another person's life

I got slapped. "Linc, this is fucking serious. Are you getting your side of the plan?"

I winced. "Yes," I spat out. "I fucking got. I got it, damn."

I never curse like that before. I had hardly used those kinds of words. What for? The demons were doing such a marvelous job for me. Make sense for them to have guest over at that soiree.

She grabbed a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. She took a smoke. She exhaled her spirit into the fading day.

"This shouldn't be hard, but I want to make sure that we are tracks covered," she said. She faced Clyde, urging him to pay attention as well. Clyde got off of his cell phone and paid attention.

She kneeled to the ground. She took another drag of her cigarette. She flicked the ashes before facing her once delicate eyes at me.

The Ronnie Anne I fell in love with was no more.

"Here is the business," she explained very casually. Her tone was voice was very businesslike. Very eerie, very eerie. "When we go to Old Royal Park, we will park our bikes besides the pavilion facing the street. The easier we do it, the easier we get out."

She took another drag of the cigarette. "Clyde, Rusty, and I will be waiting at the old rec center by the swimming pool. You, Lincoln, are going to meet her at the statue of Hachiko the Dog."

I nodded my head. My brain became flooded like a swimming pool.

"When Lindsey arrives, tell her that Lola couldn't make it. Instead, her gift is waiting for her in your backpack. Tell her that you have forgotten it behind the wall at the old rec center."

"Ok," I respond. My lips became heavier.

"When she comes, give her the backpack. Suggest to her that she needs to check out the goods. Give her a reason for her to open the backpack," said Ronnie Anne.

"What's next," asked Clyde. He already knew. This was the comrade where we shared secrets and ghost stories through walkie talkies at home. The go-to guy for all of your latest recipes and tips. And that was the same guy who was participating in a murder.

I was calling like how I was seeing it. This was not a prank. This is a setup.

Pure, horrid murder.

The stress was building.

She displayed a smirk. "She gets the shocker of her life." She looked at the backpack. "However, I doubt that the voltage is enough to kill her. This is where we come in."

Clyde clenched his time. His eyes watered from the anticipation.

"We need to pick her up and throw her in the old swimming pool," said Ronnie Anne. "The end." She flicked the cigarette away.

"Experienced you are Ronnie ol' girl," said Clyde. "A few days prior I filled the pool with water. I came early in the morning. I doubt my parents were up to noticed. It was the anniversary." The duo snickered.

Rusty returned. He was chewing on a candy bar. Ronnie Anne's eyes furrowed.

"Did you pay with that with cash," she protested.

"Chill out, chill out," he replied. "I did. Trust me. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is your pepperoni, spotted dalmatian ass not blowing our cover," she said. "It is good enough that Lincoln might blow it. You are not going to blow this either."

"Look, bitch, you need me for this shit," he retorted. "If you think you can do this on your own, then let me walk away." He added, "But I want proceeds if I am going to keep quiet."

_Big mistake, Rusty._

The tone he produced made Ronnie Anne wrapped her tiny fist. With her free hand, she pulled out a switchblade. She stomped her feet to her direction. "Listen, you _pandejo,_ I don't have time for your fucking threats."

The blade, which shimmered a reflection of the streetlight, was making contact on Rocky's neck. "I don't have time for this. Snitch on me and your _gringo_ ass is shredded meat. Understand?"

Rusty stood motionless. He had to be very surprised on seeing someone threatening his life. "Yeah, I get it," he said with a somber voice. "I am sorry. Forgive me. Take it easy with the knife."

She still had the knife against his neck. She darted around before removing the weapon.

_You were very close from cutting your life short. You were very close._

She retrieved the switchblade back into her pocket. She looked at her cell phone. "We have wasted too much time. Let's get the hell out of here."

Rusty stumbled. He chewed his lip. He mumbled a few words, but it was very faint to hear. We got on our bikes and continued to our destination.

Those words of _honesty_ and _good will_ and _citizenship_ clung to me. They were guardians of my conscience. We were going down the sidewalk when I have decided to pull out my cell phone. _Maybe it is not too late,_ I have told myself. _I can send her a text message. I can call it off. That's right! Let's call it home._

A cool sensation came to mind, resonating all over me. I was last to roam. They were going ahead of me. Just a black sheep roaming with a pack of wolves.

I pulled out my cell phone. I kept looking to see if they were too focused. They were. Thank God. I reach into my phone and clicked on messages. I found Lindsey under my contacts. I fumbled but kept a tight grip on my phone. I was doing much as I could to protect her from an ambush.

_Don't come. Change of plans. We can do this another day._

I had hoped I have typed it right. The sweat from my fingertips blurred the cell phone. I send the message. I was relieved and relaxed. I was responsible for saving a life.

I have received a response.

_Cancel? But I am already here waiting for you._

"Oh, shit," I screamed to myself. I muffled my voice, not wanting to surprise the others. I was going to send another text, but it was interrupted after we abruptly stopped.

"We are here," said Ronnie Anne.

Old Royal Park was a popular spot back in Royal Woods in the seventies. It served as a recreation center and country club. It also served as a local venue for many of the town's local talent. However, by the end of the eighties, the park was falling into decline after New Royal Park was built a few blocks down the street.

Old Royal Park closed down the rec center and the country club relocated. What was left of the former oasis of the locals were claimed by the undesirables of the town. It became a hangout spot for teenagers, junkies, prostitutes, and the like.

It would also serve as the location of Lindsey Sweetwater's final moments.

As instructed, we parked our bikes at the concrete barrier, facing the street. This part of town was in decline due to gentrification. The park was desolate, only us making its use.

"Do you see her," asked Clyde.

I scanned my eyes, searching for her. I didn't see anything. _Good,_ I said silently.

"Wait a minute," uttered Rusty. "I see somebody approaching the vicinity of Old Hachiko." He pointed his fingers to the front of the statue of Old Hachiko. And there she was, the beauty queen herself.

Dressed in her street attire: short blue jean blouse and blue jean skirt with black leggings. She was wearing star-shaped sunglasses. Around her shoulder was her pink purse. Even from the distance, it had looked expensive. Her long curly locks waved in the air. She was a pretty child.

"Is this our victim," asked Ronnie Anne.

I fell silent, trying my hardest to concoct a lie.

"Man, quit being a little bitch," responded Clyde. "Is that Lindsey?"

_We used to be tighter than this, Clyde. I thought we were going to be best friends forever._

"Yeah," I sighed. "That is Lindsey."

_I am a coward and a murderer under the eyes of my Lord who is going to forsake in the fiery depths of hell. I deserve to make residence of my eternal damnation._

"Excellent," said Ronnie Anne. "Here we begin, my love."

Was this true? We were going to do this. We were going to make a girl pay for something she never was done. What kind of people was we?

"Me, Clyde, and Rusty will wait for you behind the rec center at the pool," said Ronnie Anne as she placed her hands in her pocket. "Oh wait, before you go," she said. She put her finger to her lip. I thought she was gathering her thought.

"I didn't know why I didn't think about this," she said. "But we need a signal to be ready for this. When we come I mean."

"Is it more than enough after shocking her," I explained to her. My voice was being raised.

"Plans go south," she retorted. "If it fails, then plan B." She said while tossing the switchblade back and forth.

The color from my face drained as I was witnessing my Ronnie Anne turning into a demon. "Us misfits suffer enough from the masses," she said. "Now it is time to give these bougies a piece of their mind. Excuse me, a taste of their blood."

Before I could talk, she nudged me. "You will say 'It is really dark for us to be alone.' When you say those words, we will be on cue. Okay?"

"Yes," I simply said.

She rubbed her hand on my cheek, stroking it affectionately. "Don't be scared of us, Lincoln. Remember why we are doing this?"

Closing my eyes and not wanting to hear any of her dampened lies, I walked away and headed into Lindsey's direction.

The others darted to the old rec center adjacent from where we met. I was now walking the line between life and death. The closer I was, the further from redemption I was going.

The watch on my wrist displayed the time of a few minutes after 6:30. There was a lump in my throat. My heart began beating loudly. My heart was pumping and pumping and pumping. I was approaching another whose heart was pumping and pumping and pumping. It reminded me of a bell curve in my math class.

The only difference was that as one goes up, the other was going away.

Maybe I was somewhat of an intellect.

She was leaning at the foot of Old Hachiko was she saw me. Her face showed relief. Just happy to see a familiar face.

"Boy, I am happy to see you," she explained. "You wouldn't catch me dead at such a drag of a place."

I chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. "I know what you mean. This place is kinda giving me the creeps."

She scoffed as she was rubbing the soles of her shoes. They also looked very expensive. Her parents must want the best of out of her if they were willing to spend that kind of money on her child. A promising future like Jon Ben….

I digressed.

"Hey, where's Lola," she asked me with widened eyes. She gripped her hands around her purse.

I was not sure, but it wasn't a shock that she might have had a weapon.

Well played, Lindsey. Well played.

"Grounded," I lied to her. I was still keeping my attention on her. "She said a bad word and my parents grounded her."

She laughed before wiping her eye. "Lola just don't know when to quit. She has a lot of moxie, to be honest."

I shrugged my shoulders in agreement.

"Anyway, you told me on the phone that you and Lola got something for me," she winked. "Something to end the new competition."

"It is something to end," I lamented.

"Loud, you are okay with me," she said. "Lola is lucky to have such a big brother like you."

_Not true, Lindsey. Not true._

"It's behind...it's behind." I turned away from her. I didn't want her to see my tears. I took a breath before returning to normal. "It's behind the old rec center."

She raised her eyebrow. "Why there?"

"It was too heavy. I was resting there for a little bit before you came," I said.

"But I just saw you coming from the street," she explained.

"You see, I left to get a drink of water," I told her that the drinking fountain was on the other side of the park. "Carrying that thing is quite heavy. So I needed a drink."

I was keeping my cool. Didn't want to be any suspicion. Although, I would like if she went home. Then the mission could have been aborted.

"Kind of weak Loud if you ask me," she said to me with a hint of teasing. "But that is okay. I came with help."

_With help? Oh shit, she did not come alone?_

Out from the darkness was another child. He looked very fragile. The first thing I have noticed was his red hair. Then I saw the acne on his face. His expressions were too similar to a certain person in which I was conspiring.

"Need any help," he spoke to Lindsey.

The boy diverted his eyes from Lindsey and focused on me. "Hey, Lincoln. What's going on?"

The plan was going array. Oh, my God. Oh my fucking God.

I displayed a smile. But it was out of fear. "Hey, Rocky. How are you?"

Lindsey did not come along. Rusty's younger brother, Rocky, was here as well.

"Rocky, can you help us with this item from the back, please," asked Lindsey with pleading eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, whatever."

He approached me and pounded fist with me.

I am now the walking Judas walking these two children to their fate. What should have been a duo had turned into a trinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part two. I have really hope you have enjoyed this chapter. Last night, I have received a message about how come I am focusing on this? Wasn't I supposed to focus on Lucy? I can understand where the fan is coming from, but can you guys appreciate how Lincoln got involved in this mess. Of course, it is lengthy, but I want you all to appreciate the experience.
> 
> This incident plays a role and how it caused Lincoln's demise with Lucy. This incident is pivotal with him and Lucy.
> 
> As soon as I finished, I will return on Lucy. But, isn't it something to know what goes down in all perspectives? To some, it may be appreciated. And for those who understand, I thank you. And thank you for your patience.
> 
> Part Three is coming soon. Thanks for reading and God bless.


	13. A Sinner's Regret (Part III)

_She was flawless._

We were sitting in the kitchen that fateful evening when Ronnie Anne decided to make Lindsey Sweetwater our target. I remembered that day because it fell on the weekend of my parents' wedding anniversary. We were eating pizza from her brother's job. He left us alone to spend the evening with my sister. Their parents were not home. They never were. It made me think that Ronnie Anne and Bobby were raising themselves. They say that parents are the biggest influence on the foundation of their children. They are the stepping stone for their success in the future.

I can't speak for they, but if they understand, then why in the hell was Ronnie Anne sliding the picture of our target to use with one hand and eating a deep dish pizza with another. They don't know that those around them are the ones who gives them the influence to go where they want to go. Excuse me about the tangent, but it is best to understand what I am explaining to you. Friends see them more often than parents. Parents supposed to make time with their kids, but they don't. Their absentee love is compensated through gifts. As long they continued giving these gifts to their kids, then the less guilt that is sustained. Parents must know that love is absorbed through affection and time and not by materialistic things that falters likes a child's desire for their parents.

A puppy weaned too soon from an angry mother. If that mother would have given that puppy a little more milk, then probably they wouldn't end up like that. I believed if her parents spent more time with her, then we wouldn't be in the kitchen preparing for a murder. We wouldn't be in the kitchen plotting. We wouldn't be in the kitchen gathering details on how we were going to achieve our target; gathering the materials.

We could've been planning to watch a movie. Or play video games. Or go to the arcade. But, no, we were sitting here preparing another child's farewell.

I wondered where was Lindsey right as I was sitting there. Maybe at home watching a movie. Maybe out for ice cream. Maybe confined in the warmth and love of her parents.

Because love didn't exist in the household. There was something in the air. The stench of hate.

Oh, I am sorry, I didn't excuse about 'we.' It was me, Ronnie Anne, and Clyde. We were the unholy trinity. Better yet, I was the pitiful wretch who felt pressured to join. Who felt nudged to join. Who felt coerced, bullied, threatened, persuaded. Whatever verb you choose, I will leave it up to you.

_She was flawless._

It was the reason on why she picked such a target. She wanted to find someone that was going to leave a mark on the city. She didn't want just any victim. What she was looking for was someone who served as a poster child. An All-American person who displayed civic qualities of a human being. A person of distinguishable, admirable traits. A person who exhibit strong leadership and character. A person that receives love, praise, and have the guile of a leader.

A type who she loathe the most.

The twitch in her eye exhibited such behavior of the despised. She tapped the picture so many times that it was eventually becoming smudged. God forbid if I asked her on what other candidates were she looking at. She made up her mind on the decision. She told us that she wanted done within a few weeks.

The weeks following the murder, I sat there while Clyde and Ronnie Anne collaborated with techniques. They read magazines like _Soldiers of Fortune_ , _Gun World_ and _Recoil_. Every weekend was spent at each other's houses. We spent hours on the computer looking at videos ranging from how to use a gun to how to make lethal stab wounds. Watching school shooting videos like Columbine, Virginia Tech, and the University of Texas. Clyde further delved into it by purchasing the DSM-IV book on case studies. He was studying on how to commit a crime and run away clean. Ronnie Anne entered the void by reading radical stories like _The Turner Diaries, Hitmen, and Hunter_. Each book was worse than other as each provided sinister roles on murder, tyranny, and overall hate. In the late night hour, we were on blogs with other people who had the same idea on murder.

On one blog, Ronnie Anne was posting stories on how she thought about getting fertilizer and fuel to blow up Lindsey. Sort of robust, if you ask me. I mean all of that for one girl. Clyde wanted to purchase a gun through the black market and shoot her. Ronnie Anne mentioned that she wanted to kidnap her and hold her hostage while torturing her; demanding money for ransom before killing her. Clyde continue the ante by saying how much he wanted to knife her. My role was very limited. I just watched. However, I still played the biggest role in the matter.

And that was not warning anybody of the crime.

After a week or so, Ronnie Anne came over to my house. She waited until we were behind closed doors to tell me on what she planned. She explained that she wanted something original. Something that was creative in the terms of murder.

The "shock device" idea came from a blog she read. She saw how effective it could be based on how high the voltage was. With much thought, she informed Clyde about it. Funny thing that they really didn't include me in the plans. To this very day, I still believe I served more as a material witness. However, I still played the biggest role in the matter. I didn't warn anybody of the crime.

She went through some back channels before finding the right device for her plans. She had to wait a few days, but it was worth the wait according to her. Her eyes were wide as saucers. She was excited like sparklers exploded on the fourth of July. As a celebratory offer, she and I engaged in sex. It didn't matter that the door was partially ajar as she held me down while we were "making love." While she was ravishing me, I kept one eye on the door. Because I knew there was another eye watching me. Excuse me, watching us.

A few days later, Clyde called me to meet him and Ronnie Anne. We didn't discuss any matters on the phone. When I got with them, Ronnie Anne also surprised us wit. Clyde became excited because he, too, got the burn phones for what we called "plan of action." Both acted like schoolgirls, like this was a project that was guarantee them an A.

A tragedy I concluded to myself.

Amazing how your brain can trick you. You create a memory by creating false memories. You try convincing yourself on what is true and what is not. I know I have explained that day Ronnie Anne displayed this device to me on the day of Lindsey's demise. I have lied. Yet again, I didn't. I couldn't accept. I couldn't accept that I was acutely aware on what she was planning. And I didn't do a damn thing to stop it.

I may have limited role, but so did Peter when he denied the name of Jesus. I was giving a handful of warnings. Not once, not twice, three. The number itself nudged my spirit. It beckoned, whispering to me. It was alerting me to stop. It wasn't too late. Save a life. Save a life, it kept telling me. I denied. I have denied like I have turned my back on the Lord. In the Bible, it states if you deny me in front of man, then I will deny you in front of my father.

I was given a handful of warning. Three, I remember. Opportunities to back out because I was there with Clyde and Ronnie Anne when getting the itch.

The three warning came when Rusty joined us.

I am going to paint you a picture. Imagine yourself in the garden as Christ prayed to his father on the day of his reckoning. He called and called to God to change his mind. In the end, God replied with a simple no. Now compare to the moment on where I was standing in the park with Lindsey and Rocky. I called to myself to leave from this. Let me walk away. However, the demons were chanting with an astounding roar, "no."

God wasn't in the garden and neither was Jesus. I stand alone with my demons. And also Lindsey and Rusty.

_She was flawless._

I had it all wrong. The entire time I was thinking I was in the position of the savior. No. No, I wasn't. I was playing Judas the entire time. I was the sheep with the wool in my eyes. No, no, I was the black sheep running with the pack of wolves.

And this black sheep is luring these two precious souls into a trap. They were going to crucified for being kids. And that's what they were, kids.

When I think about flawless, it meant innocence.

And we were not innocent.

"It's kinda dark," I have told them as we approaching the abandoned swimming pool. "So we need to be careful. Oh yeah, we might need to watch for broken glass."

"It's okay," responded Rocky with a smooth tone. "I have a flashlight."

"Look at Rocky for being resourceful," said Lindsey. "You know I didn't want nothing on my brand new shoes."

"Remember," interjected Rocky. "We have used this while playing Explorers this afternoon."

"Oh yeah," said Lindsey. "I didn't like the fact it was dusty, but I had fun."

"What's Explorers," I asked them. It was also a ploy to keep them calm as possible. I didn't want to give them any hints on walking them into a trap. As long I continued to keep them busy, then it would be easier to get them without them being aware.

"Explorers is a game in which we just explore different places," said Rocky. "List parks, abandoned buildings, old places, stuff like that."

"Any places worthwhile," I asked him.

"Well, we just left an old church earlier today," said Rocky. "Me, Lindsey, and a couple of friends."

"So, you two know each other," I said.

"Yeah, my brother and I used to go to the pageants because of our cousin," said Rocky. "That's how I met her."

"I thought he was cool so we started hanging out," said Lindsey. "At first, the places we went to were icky, but now I think it's cool. Plus, sometimes it is nice to live like a commoner."

I chuckled. It was a bittersweet chuckled. As we walked, Rocky explained that visiting the old church was a plan of his to explore when discovering that it was the church where his entire family had their christening. A few months after he was born, the church burned down by an arsonist. Because of the decay and disrepair of the neighborhood, the parishioners left it in its ruins to go look for another church in a decent neighborhood. It was there where he wanted to explore. As he and Lindsey went, he saw an old church pew. It was there where he found a book. Although somewhat charred, he saw a page that was written by his father. It may have been a hymnal book, but it was a piece of history that belonged to him.

I was amazed to see how childlike they were. These were kids who were plotting for adventures. As we were making their corner, Lindsey asked him on where they were going to play Explorers again.

Never, I gravely thought. Never again.

The swimming pool was behind the old rec center. The pathway there was a slanted slope. So one must be cautious. Because there weren't any handles, we had to walk carefully. I couldn't imagine it on a rainy day. At one point, there was a gate. It was supposed to keep trespassers from entering private property. A few days before, Clyde and Ronnie Anne came and cut an opening wide enough for us to get through.

The swimming pool was an Olympic sized. The device was located on the foot of the shallow end. They have chosen that end because it wouldn't take much for Lindsey to drown in a few feet of water. Oh yeah, that was the final plan.

Once Lindsey got shocked by the voltage, be as she was alive or dead, we were going to put her in a watery grave.

When asked about the debrief following it, Ronnie Anne clapped her hands and said: "that's that."

With the flashlight in hand, Rocky flashed the light at the gate. "I can't imagine what you were doing prior to this, Linc." He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever, I guess."

He held the gate for Lindsey to go first. She shrieked when hearing the sounds of crushed broken glass. "Crud, now I have glass on my shoes." She spoke to me. "You are going to pay me back, Loud."

Rocky motioned the flashlight for me to come next. I went through the gate, also being careful on not stepping on broken glass. Rocky came after me.

We were now on the other side. The garden of evil.

He flashed the flashlight to inspect the place. There wasn't much to look at. The walls of the rec center was covered in graffiti. The windows were boarded. The pool was no longer in its glory. It was just covered in years after years of despair.

Rocky flashed the light over the pool.

"Yuck," cried Lindsey. "It smells like a toilet in here. I can't imagine why you were out here, Loud."

I didn't respond. I cracked my knuckles knowing that time was running out. From afar, I looked into the darkness. What the pair didn't know that there was covered vines where the old tennis courts used to be. Inside of those gated tennis court was Clyde, Rusty, and Ronnie Anne.

I couldn't see them, but I knew they saw me. They were waiting for two things: my signal and her cue.

"Man, it is really dark for us to be alone," I said.

"Agreed," answered Rocky. "You and Luce really share the same blood. With darkness and all."

I didn't say a word.

"Ok, Loud," she said. "As much I enjoyed playing an extended round of Explorers, I would like to get this package and leave."

My stomach dropped. My lips quivered. My legs became wobbly. I staggered as I pointed the package to its direction. "If you point your flashlight over there, then you will see it."

Rocky waved the flashlight in my direction. On the foot of the pool, in the center, was the backpack from hell. We all walked to it.

"Well, here it is," I said very faintly. "The package."

"Awesome," she responds with a hint of sarcasm. "What's inside that is going to shock the competition."

I wanted to retch right there, but kept my composure.

_One_

"Lola said that there were a few outfits. She apologized for being wrinkled. But she said knowing for your personality, you will get over it," I said while laughing self-deprecatingly.

_Two_

"Lola always did have moxy," said Lindsey. "I don't see why we can't be in business."

_Three_

"If you want," I told her. "Do you want to check out the goods now?"

_Four_

"Are you pulling my leg," she questioned me. "Do you think I am going to check the goods under these conditions? You must be mistaken."

_Five_

"I respect that," I said. By this time, my hands were trembling. My lips were quivering. Why couldn't I just tell her that she was being set up? "But should you check because you may not like any of what she gave you."

_Six_

"Lincoln," she said. "I have made up my mind. I am not checking this here. I am going to wait when I get home."

_Seven_

"You got to remember, Lindsey," I said. "I know you and Lola share enemies, but you two are also enemies. She might want to set you up. Might it look like a joke."

_Eight_

"You can't be serious, Loud," she said with her hands on your hips. "You'd called me saying that she has something for me. She wouldn't prank me like that. And I am sure as heck don't like blank trips."

_Nine_

"Please, Lindsey, please," I said to her.

_Ten_

"No, I won't," answered Lindsey. "And that is final." She turned to Rocky. "Get the package so we can get out of here. I am almost late for curfew."

"No problem," replied Rocky.

Rocky picked up the backpack. "It is not that heavy," he said.

"Probably because he has a weak back," Lindsey said jokingly.

Rocky was walking until he slipped on something, which caused the backpack to slip from his grip. The backpack ended up falling into the water. When making contact with the surface, a loud sound came from it, followed by smoke.

Lindsey and Rocky's eyes widened when seeing what the backpack did with water.

"Loud," she said with a hint of fear in her voice. "What...what...what were you planning."

I let out a small cry as I kneeled on the ground. "I am sorry. I am sorry."

"Lindsey, I think we should leave," said Rocky. "We need to leave before…" He let out a loud cry. Lindsey ran to the wall as she saw Rocky dropped his flashlight. As she watched, she saw Rocky coughing blood from his mouth.

She began screaming until she saw two more people appear from the darkness. I was unsure whether it was Ronnie Anne or Clyde or Rusty. I just know that the hyenas were here and they have found their prey.

"Leave Lindsey," said Rocky as he was struggling for air. He dropped to the ground while one of them began stabbing him from the back. When she realized that this wasn't a game, she was preparing to leave when she was surrounded.

"Where in the fuck think you going, bitch," said the voice I knew it was Ronnie Anne. Ronnie Anne pulled out her pocketknife and was aiming it toward Lindsey. "It's curtains for you, bitch."

"Leave me alone," pleadingly Lindsey as she had one arm out to protect herself. "Don't hurt me. I don't want to die."

"My bleeding heart," said the voice who I determined to be Clyde. "That's what you get for being flawless."

"I don't know you," she pleaded. "Please, I will do anything. Don't hurt me."

"The only thing I want is for you to swallow your blood from this knife," cried Ronnie Anne. As she aimed the knife in Lindsey's direction, I saw a flashing life get in between those two.

I heard Ronnie Anne screamed loudly as she dropped the knife. I realized that Lindsey had a weapon after all. Ronnie Anne lied shaking on the ground from being tased. Lindsey pointed the weapon at Clyde, and he was also taken aback. Lindsey back away quickly while watching Rocky being stab. The man continued to stab Rocky constantly without even giving her a second thought. I watched her run away from the corner and up the slope to the exit.

As I watched, Clyde came and slap me. "Get out of your feelings, bitch and help me get this bitch."

He pulled me from my arms and we were running up the slope to chase Lindsey. We return to the corner where we saw Lindsey was running toward the area where we left our bikes. In his hand was a switchblade that Ronnie Anne dropped.

"Since the plan failed," cried Clyde. "I am going to drop this bitch myself." He turned to me. "And you are going to hold her down since you were being a fucking pussy."

I didn't say anything while we were running after her.

Through the chase, Lindsey screamed out for her mom, her dad, her sister, God, anybody to save.

"That's right," cried Clyde as he was yelling in the distance. "Screaming is my greatest pleasure. I scream with you. 'Help, somebody help'."

Lindsey was only a few yards from us now. The adrenaline rush gave Clyde an upper hand. He was thirsty for blood.

"Don't you get it bitch, nobody can hear you scream," he cried. "Lindsey, Lindsey. We are coming after you, Lindsey."

"Get away from me," cried Lindsey as she was making her way through the wall.

We were approaching the street where we saw Lindsey collapsed. She was struggling, but we were getting closer to her. "Where is your God now," cried Clyde as he pulling out the switchblade. Out of nowhere, I have lost my grip, causing Clyde to fall.

I silently thanked God for listening to her.

Lindsey managed to get up and made her way toward the street. I saw her screaming into traffic as she wanted help.

"Help," she screamed. "Help me."

I saw one car that was approaching. I was very relieved. _Lindsey is going to get help. She is finally going to get…._

I heard a loud thump following by the sound of the brakes. As I lied on the ground, I saw Lindsey get struck by a car. That loud thump was the kind when deers appeared in the middle of nowhere. I got up and made my way toward where Lindsey was lying.

I had to stop. I had to. Because the vehicle that hit her was the same woman I have spoken to earlier about citizenship and good will.

Blood was painted on the grill of the vehicle. It didn't take much of genius to realize what happened. I was shaking violently when I walked closer to the street, I saw brain matter on the street. She was dead. Lindsey Sweetwater was dead.

My mind was spinning. The demons were applauding. _Well done, thy good and faithful son_ , they tell me. _Welcome to the world of detriment and lost souls. Hell is where you will make your residence one day_.

I saw how my teacher was cradling Lindsey. She was crying. She was heartbroken. The last thing I checked before I left was her pulling her cellphone to call the police. I didn't run away. I walked backed to the front of the rec center. Clyde followed me soon thereafter.

I returned to the old rec center where I knew we only had a few moments before the cops would arrive. Ronnie Anne and Rusty were waiting for us. We were all silent. Especially Rusty. He was paler than a ghost. I would be too if I realized I was having fun stabbing a guy until realizing it was my brother.

Ronnie Anne stared heavily at me. She didn't say a word. We all ran to the wall, grabbed our bikes, and disappeared into the night.

We were silent as we arrived back to Rusty's. Rusty left his bike on the driveway. He went into the garage and shut the door. Before it had slammed shut, he let out a loud cried following by throwing items.

We all went to the back of the garage and put the bikes back in the bushes. We were still silent as we walked back to the driveway.

Clyde grabbed his backpack from Rusty's house and walked home. Ronnie Anne and I grabbed our things and headed out as well.

I didn't go home that night. I returned to Ronnie Anne's place. I knew that she was going to be alone. Alone with every single pure rage. And she was going to need a punching bag for it.

I wasn't two feet from the entrance of her house when she punched me in the back of the head. I lost my breath and landed on my knees. Her face displayed anger. A new kind of rage. She then kicked me in the stomach. She kicked me a couple of times before I hit the ground. She screamed as she was stomping me several times with her shoe. I tried to crawl, but every time I moved, she struck me.

She turned me over and began punching me in the face. She continued hitting me, even as the tears was flowing in her eyes. When she stopped hitting me, she rammed my head against the floor. I was becoming dazed. But you know, I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't have any emotions. All of it was left when I saw Lindsey hit the windshield before bouncing a few feet onto the pavement.

When she was finished, she got up and left me lying in my pool of blood. I stared at the ceiling. I have lied there several times before with her. Either reading comic books, watching television, and the like. But this ceiling was closing in really fast. I knew that I was now in a new era.

I knew when I return home tomorrow, I wasn't any longer just Lincoln Loud: the jack of all trades, reliable, brother, son, friend. Murderer was now included in the resume.

Stress keeps building.

Ronnie Anne returned a few minutes later with towels. She threw them at me. She was silent but knew I had to clean up my mess. I spent those last twenty minutes cleaning the mess. Afterward, I took a shower. She watched me the entire time before concluding our evening. I lied there quietly knowing that there was another murderer sleeping beside me. We have neither slept. She continued staring at me.

For the first time, she spoke to me. "If you want me to forgive you, you know what to do." She turned over and went to sleep. I knew what she wanted. I knew what she meant. But it amazed me on knowing that earlier we have killed Rocky and Lindsey, but she went to sleep without giving it a wink.

_She was flawless._

In the dictionary, flawless is defined as someone that doesn't have any mistakes or shortcomings. Looking back, Lindsey was not perfect. She was envious, materialistic, and high-strung. She was flawed. She was flawed. She was flawed.

I looked back now and saw that it was making sense. It was because she was flawless because the world only saw what they wanted to see. As shallow as our world is, it was because of Lindsey's accomplishments that people choose to ignore, excuse, or overlook someone like her.

I have mentioned that logic to Ronnie Anne. She shrugged and responded, "It's whatever you want it to be. I really don't care anymore."

* * *

The car makes a complete stop. The sound of the engines cut off. I hear the sound of footsteps approaching the truck. I hear the sounds of key unlocking the truck. As I look up, I see Lucy with her catlike eyes staring at me.

"Surprised to know you are still with me, you dog," she scoffs.

I don't say a word.

"I hope you had time to reflect on your sins, big brother," she says with a crooked smile. "Because I am done from punishing you."

I still don't say a word.

"Remain silent all you want," she explains. "You are going to save your voice for what is to come next."

I am still silent.

"What still amazes me that you know why are you in this position, but still don't admit it," she says. "No matter how silent you are, you can't hide from the truth. You made me this way."

"I made you this way," I retort.

"Yep," she says with a smile. "But I don't regret it. Still, I have to thank the others for making me this way. I mean, you set off the chain of events."

I don't want to talk anymore.

"Alright, dog," she tells me. "We are somewhere we no one can find us. Plenty of time for us to rekindle our love."

"Our love," I retort.

She displays a smirk. "Yes, big brother, _our_ love." She peers at me and blows into my ears. "I am looking for the tortuous things to come."

I swallow nothing.

She chuckles again. "Oh, the insanity that advances into the night, you dog. I am getting excited for the things we are going to share. To share as siblings."

Stress keeps building.


End file.
